


The New Ways of Old Gods

by JulianGreystoke



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action, Adventure, After, Alun, Battle, Best Friends, Bromance, Brotp, Celwydd, Character Growth, Combat, Continuation, Continue, Danger, Dread Wolf, Elf, Elven, Elves, Epilogue, F/M, Family Dinner, Fen'Harel - Freeform, Fluff, Fortress, Friendship, Growing, Hurt/Comfort, June - Freeform, King and Queen, Lore - Freeform, Love, Myfanwy - Freeform, Mystery, Mythal - Freeform, Old Gods, One True Pairing, Pantheon - Freeform, Possession, Resurrection, Romance, Sailing, Ship, Skyhold, Slow Burn, Spiders, Spirit - Freeform, Spirits, Story, Suspense, Temple, Venatori, Waking Sea, War, change of heart, changing, compassion - Freeform, elfy, explained, followers, game, mommy Cullen, origin of gods, redeemable, spirit companions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 277,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a continuation of the story after the Epilogue of DA:I.</p><p>Astlyr Adaar has saved the world, Corypheus is dead, and Astlyr's good friend Solas has disappeared for parts unknown (without so much as a goodbye).  Now things should finally settle down in Skyhold...right?  When Cole appears in her room and claims to have found someone in danger who desperately needs her help, she feels compelled to investigate.  A new spirit is found, a new mystery arises.  This is an odd one.  Is the seemingly small newcomer the herald of a much greater danger?</p><p>Gods will rise!  Alliances will be forged!  They saved the world, only to see it endangered again.  But what could be the harm in helping an injured bird?</p><p>(Finished Work!  For more from this world check out "Letters From Thedas")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my attempt to continue the story, going off of the hunch that I had the first time I finished the game. There will be SPOILERS for the end of DA:I. I work with one of the popular theories about what happened with Solas and Mythal and the Dread Wolf thing. The side I chose might be the less popular of the two theories, but it was my first instinct, so I am going with it. Hopefully this will tide us over until we get our DLC or a new game :)  
> Enjoy, gentle readers.
> 
> Chapter 1 edited 12/18/14

The New Ways of Old Gods

Part 1: Spirit

“The failure was mine. I should pay the price...but the people...they need me. I am so sorry.”

“I am sorry as well, old friend.”

She clawed her way into his flesh like smoke into a dying man's lungs. She ripped him free like an old rag and tossed him aside. He felt himself failing. Bits of him being eaten away by her superior power. This was what he deserved. This was all that waited. The people needed him, but they needed her more. He awaited nothingness as she burned him away to take his place.

Blackness was all he knew for a time, before he was able to open his eyes. Not dead. Not burned away. If he had been thinking. If he had not been filled with panic as he looked on the visage of his god with failure in his eyes, he might have guessed he would survive. But what was he now? What remained when everything else was stripped away?

~~~~~~

 

Astlyr leaned back in her chair. She was supposed to be working, but paperwork was never her strength no matter how much Josie prodded and cajoled. Especially now, with Coryphius defeated and the Inquisition helping to rebuild. There seemed to be little for a warrior to do. When your resume mostly consisted of different methods of separating a man from his organs, it felt like there wasn't much to do now that there was no one to disembowel.

Her eyes kept wandering to the window and the sky beyond. So temptingly blue. Out there somewhere dragons were flying unmolested and unslain by her. She felt her hand twitch, remembering the icy prickling of the mark on her hand. Now no green tear scarred the sky, and her mark had not done anything but look like a bad tattoo since her day of victory against Coryphious. Usually she kept the hand gloved in public to avoid people from grabbing her arm and insisting on seeing it.

“Astlyr!”

“Fuck!” she dropped quill she had been holding. She spun around to face the young man who had appeared in her room. “Cole! What have I told you about doing that? I could have been naked or something.”

“Have to come,” he ignored her words, reaching out both hands to her like a child trying to lead a caregiver. “He's lost, and hurting, and he won't let me help him! He just kept asking for you. I have to bring you.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Astlyr stood, making gentling motions with her hands. The spirit was more agitated than she had seen him in a long time. “What's wrong, Cole? Slow down.”

“I found him beside the wall. He fell and he wants you! Please come!” he reached for her again, lacing slender fingers through hers with urgency.

“Alright, alright,” she said, knowing that whatever he was talking about she had better go with him. The situation was obviously serious.

There was a whoosh and her hands felt icy as a cold wind blew in her face and the spirit boy vanished. “Cole!” Astlyr shouted to the air, “I can't just teleport places. We've been over this!”

Cole reappeared, tilting his chin up so she could see his sad eyes under the brim of his hat. “I am sorry. Come, I will show you!” he grasped her hand again and led her.

She felt rather foolish as she was dragged through Skyhold's main hall. Varric raised an eyebrow as they passed. He was sitting at his desk, obviously working on his latest novel. Perhaps even the tale of how they had repaired a tattered sky and saved the world. She gave him a rueful smile and an expressive shrug as she was led on.

They went down past the markets, which were thriving more than ever as people came, eager to see Skyhold and to buy souvenirs. It seemed that the fortress was now the favorite tourist location in Thedas. Cole led on. His hands were chilly and they did not warm as she held them. His skin seemed to repel warmth, yet she smiled slightly at his determined stride. She was fond of the odd young man. Young spirit? Whichever.

“Here. He's here!” Cole dropped to his knees beside the wall at the end of the stables. Astlyr leaned over to see. Nestled in a tuft of grass against the stone was a small, brown bird of prey. It was bedraggled with many feathers out of place. It was scrawny, and only one dark eye watched her, the other reduced to a glassy grey.

“A bird?” Astlyr asked. “Cole...couldn't you have brought it to the healer?” She looked the creature over and she was doubtful that a healer would have helped. It was obvious this creature had one talon in the grave.

“Not a bird,” Cole's voice was anguished. He reached out and touched the little falcon with his fingertips and his body stiffened. Astlyr knew this well. Cole could read other people's pain, and could express it to those around him. The healer sometimes used him to diagnose unconscious wounded, though he was also adept at sensing emotional pain. She waited to see what he would say. “She comes to me with hands like knives, and I am sorry, I am sorry, I am so...I was wrong! I made a mistake! Yes. I deserve this. Take my life away...then she reaches inside me, steals me, empties me!” Cole gasped, staggering back.

“Cole!” Astlyr caught his shoulders. She had never seen this reaction from him.

He whimpered, “This isn't right. He isn't right! He's lost. Doesn't belong. Wants you. Won't let me help. Burning, biting, barren loss,” he slumped against her grip and she held him more firmly.

“Easy, Cole. What do you mean? Is this creature a spirit? How does it know me?”

Cole seemed dazed, so she made him sit in the grass and then approached the bird herself. For a moment it was so still she thought it had died. Then it twitched and looked at her with its one good eye. “Hello,” she spoke softly, kneeling down beside it “are you a spirit? Did I meet you in the fade? Is that why you're asking for me? How can I help you, little friend?” Cole made another whimpering sound and began rocking forward and back. “You're worrying my friend over there,” she said, still using a kind tone, “Could I pick you up and take you somewhere safer?”

The bird blinked at her so she took that as a 'yes' and slid her fingers under it. She expected to feel its little heart beating against her hands, but didn't. Definitely a spirit, she decided. “Come on now, little friend. It'll be alright,” she soothed, gently smoothing a bent feather with her finger. Green light appeared on her hand and a familiar prickling, stinging began. Holding the bird in one hand she turned the other over to see her mark was faintly aglow. She took in a sharp breath, “you must be a spirit. The mark is reacting to you.”

The bird seemed to summon its strength and nipped her palm where it shone with green light. “Hey,” she scolded, though gently, “that's not a very nice way to say thank you. Cole, are you alright? Can you come with me back to the hold?”

The boy stood up, though he still managed to look more pathetic than usual. He hugged himself as he followed her back to the keep proper. People stared at the odd threesome. Someone pointed “it's the Inquisitor!”

“Maker's balls,” grumbled Astlyr, rolling her eyes and walking faster. “The Inquisitor is busy right now,” she shouted over her shoulder as she made for the stairs at a walk so brisk a dwarf might have to sprint to keep up.

“New pet?”

Damn Varric and his sharp eyes, she smiled to herself as she entered the keep and was greeted by her friend. “Not exactly,” she said, slowing her pace to allow him to catch up. Cole blinked into existence a little ahead of them, watching the bird with intense concern. “I'm pretty sure it is a spirit. Cole found it and he says it's not a bird. Then when I picked it up my hand starting glowing again.”

“Sounds like a spirit alright,” agreed Varric, keeping stride with her. He obviously intended to find out more as well.

In Astlyr's room she dumped out a basket of papers and made a nest inside it from blankets and pillows. Then she set the little creature in it. It looked up at the three with its one eye and clacked its beak a few times. “Alright,” Astlyr leaned back, folding her arms. “Now what?”

“Should I get a mage? The healer?” Varric asked, scrutinizing the bird.

“Maybe,” Astlyr said. “Who is still in Skyhold?”

“Dorian,” the dwarf replied, rubbing his chin with a gloved hand.

“Let me try again,” said Cole in a quiet voice. “I want to see...”

“Are you sure?” Astlyr turned to the young man whose face was turned down, obscured by his hat. “The last time he did his pain sharing thing with this bird it wasn't like it normally is,” Astlyr explained to Varric, who had raised an eyebrow. “It seemed like it wore Cole out to do it.”

“I want to try again,” the spirit boy said, firmly.

“Go easy, kid,” Varric said, stepping aside to allow Cole access to their new charge.

The bird seemed to sit up slightly, as though it knew what Cole was going to try to do.

The boy rested his fingers delicately on the bird's folded and bedraggled wings. Astlyr wondered at this. Normally Cole did not need to touch someone to feel their pain or sorrow.

Cole's head snapped back, his eyes wide and Astlyr had to struggle to keep herself from rushing instantly to his side to pull his hands away. “I have done something very wrong! I have displeased her, I have endangered everything! I cannot go back, I cannot make it well again. I will let her take what was mine and push me away into nothing. Then I will fade, as before. I cannot go where I am not welcome...but the dead are always willing. Have to try. Have to find her! The one from before, with hand of green and eyes of friendship...the wind bites me and I am buffeted, but I will find her. Lead her back to the place of my shame! I am so alone. So-” Cole jerked his hands away and moaned, holding his head. “It's too much for me!” he said, his voice tight. “He's more than what he seems. I c- I can't.”

“Take it easy, kid,” Varric strode forward and placed a hand on Cole's back. “It's alright. You did a good job.”

“I know what it wants,” the boy muttered, sitting down on Astlyr's bed. He tucked up his legs to sit cross legged.

Astlyr sat down beside him, resisting the urge to put her arm around his thin shoulders. She knew this would make him uncomfortable, and make her own pains easier for him to sense. She didn't want to distract him. This whole situation needed to be sorted. Even she could feel the sense of something too large to be the spirit of a bird. “What does it want, Cole?”

“It wants...it wants not to be a bird.” the boy looked up at her with his desperately sad eyes. The kind that made you want to hug him, if you didn't know that he usually looked like that.

“Fair enough,” Astlyr said, looked down at the little creature in the basket. “It's a spirit right? So it can inhabit something else.”

“Needs to be willing,” muttered Cole.

“It said the dead were always willing. Is this a dead bird?” Varric gestured to the pathetic animal.

“Possibly,” Astlyr nodded. “But how did this spirit come to our world? It did something wrong and angered someone...someone female by the sound of it. Do spirits have mothers? Ugh. I wish Solas was here. We have no idea what we're talking about with all this spirit nonsense.”

The bird seemed to agree, clacking its beak expressively.

“So it wants a new body. Maybe one that isn't a dead animal,” Varric folded his arms. “Anything else?”

Cole had a look of concentration on his face. “I could see pictures this time. I don't always see pictures. I saw...a woman. She was angry, but I think she was sad too.”

“Probably the woman he was talking about. The one who took something of his.” Astlyr sighed. “Maybe we should get Dorian. This is all too confusing for me.” The bird made a soft peeping sound. “Was that a yes or a no?” she asked it.

“I'll get him,” Cole puffed out of sight with a small tuft of greyish smoke.

“Cole, don't startle him,” Astlyr called uselessly to the air, “we've talked about this!”

While they waited Varric and Astlyr scrutinized their new feathered friend, who gave as good as he got with his one remaining eye. Finally Astlyr felt unsettled and had to look away. “The strangest things happen to me, don't they?” she asked, glancing down at her hand where the green mark was once again dormant.

“They do seem to,” Varric agreed, folding his arms.

“Alright, what in the Maker's name is the lad on about?” Dorian sounded annoyed as he strode into the room. He took in Astlyr, Varric, and their unusual guest as Cole reappeared looking satisfied. “So he wasn't just rambling nonsense,” the mage raised an eyebrow, “You really do have a bird-thing in here. I hope it doesn't give you fleas.”

“It's a spirit that has inhabited a bird,” Astlyr explained. “A dead bird by the look of it. We were hoping that as a mage, you might have come insight. Cole did his...pain sharing whatever he does with it, and it seems to have been very determined to find me specifically.”

“The strangest things happen to you, don't they?” Dorian said as he knelt beside the bird in the basket. He stroked its head with a finger and the creature closed its eyes with apparent enjoyment. Astlyr and Varric shot one another a quick smile. Dorian waved his hand in the air over the bird and even someone as far removed from magic as the qunari could feel it prickle her skin. Dorian squinted as white light coiled around his fingers, then purple mixed in. The bird sat quite still, its only movement the occasional slow blink.

Finally the mage sat back on his heels. “Well?” Astlyr asked.

“It is my professional opinion as a necromancer that this bird is indeed deceased. Was there anything else you wanted me for?”

“So you couldn't get anything from it?” Varric asked, eyebrow raised.

“I may be a mage, but I am far from an expert of spirits and the fade,” Dorian admitted, rubbing his hand on the beck of his neck and standing up. He kicked the kinks out of his legs from crouching. “You're sure this little spirit is anything special?”

“Special? Yes.” Cole spoke. He was sitting on the window sill, one leg tucked up under him.

“So what the hell do we do with it now?” Varric wondered. “It said it wanted to find you, and it found you. What next?”

“Cole mentioned something about it wanting to go back to the place of its shame,” Astlyr said, uncertain.

The bird clacked its beak at her and blinked.

“So we do what? Take the pidgeon to the big map in the war room and let it point out where it wants to go?” Varric questioned in a sarcastic tone.

“Actually, that might not be a bad idea,” Astlyr said. “If we brought you to a map, would that help you?” she leaned over the small creature. It looked blankly back. She pursed her lips and scratched her brow below a horn.

“Worth a try,” Dorian shrugged. “I'm curious now too.”

“Alright then,” Astlyr picked up the basket and set it on her hip, “the adventure continues.”

The odd procession following the qunari with a bird made their way across to the war room. Luckily, Josie was not at her desk, Astlyr thought as they passed. She wasn't eager to explained her expedition to more people. Her relief was short lived as Dorian opened the war room door for her and Cullen was inside. He looked up as the group entered, confusion and surprise mingling on his face. Even more so when Cole joined them by once again simply appearing in the room.

“Varric,” Astlyr said, impatiently as she set the basket down and gently lifted the animal from it.

Taking his cue the dwarf explained the situation to the baffled commander as Astlyr set the bedraggled falcon onto the map, which was still spread over the great, oaken table. “If I wasn't seeing this right in front of my eyes I would assume it was one of your tales, Varric,” the man said, watching the goings on with interest.

Under the scrutiny of the odd assemblage the bird sat quite still for a moment. Then it gave a pathetic flap of a wing, and it began move about. The motion could best be described as flopping. It failed, paused and seemed to look around at the map, head tilted so its good eye could see. It knocked over several little icons on the map, which made Cullen wince, but he said nothing. Finally, after a good deal of flopping, the bird lay still, one wing twisted at on odd angle, but it had plunged its beak into a point on the map.

The group leaned in as one and Cullen almost put his eye out on one of Astlyr's horns in the process. “Isn't that...?” Varric squinted.

“It is,” Astlyr answered, gently scooping the falcon into a more comfortable position. “It's the Temple of Sacred Ashes...or what's left of it. To be honest I was hoping I had seen the last of that place.”

“You're not alone there,” Varric grumbled.

“This little spirit was at the Temple?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“It's possible. The Fade was torn open after all,” Astlyr said, scrutinizing the map.

Abruptly Cole began weeping. He curled into a ball, holding his knees as he sobbed. Astlyr gasped and they all rushed to the boy's side. She didn't stop herself this time, but wrapped him in her strong arms. He nestled against her shoulder, wetting it with tears that were startlingly cold as they soaked through her tunic. His hat tumbled off. “Maker's breath, what's wrong?” Cullen asked in a soft voice, squatting beside Astlyr with concern written on his face.

“I have no idea,” Astlyr said as Cole's fingers grasped her sleeve and pulled tightly. She was a little worried he was going to rip her favorite tunic.

The boy mumbled something unintelligible into Astlyr's shoulder. She tried to pry him away from herself as carefully as possible, but he clung like a limpet. She was completely baffled, and beginning to feel uncomfortable. While her first instinct was always to reach out, she had never been good with people's strong emotions, and Cole seemed to be all emotion. Between the boy's wracking sobs she could hear the bird making peeping sounds from the table. On a hunch she gathered Cole into her arms and lifted him easily. He weighed less than she might have expected from someone who appeared human, and she was strong. She carried him out of the room.

She had to take him all the way to the main hall before he would stop. This he did rather abruptly and let got of her shirt. She set him down hurriedly. He wiped his eyes and sniffed. Asltyr tried not to think about the large patch of mingled snot and tears on her chest.

Dorian, who had followed them, passed the boy a handkerchief, “Here you are young fellow. Now...will someone please tell me what that was all about?”

Cole examined the handkerchief, “father says I can have this. I've just fallen and my nose is bleeding, so he holds this to my face. Then he says I can keep it, but he tousles my hair and walks away and I don't want the handkerchief, I want more comfort from him.”

“Alright, I'll have that back now,” Dorian plucked the cloth from the spirit boy's hands, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

“Was it the bird that made you cry, Cole?” Astlyr asked, bending down to look in his eyes, aware that some of the people in the hall were watching them, a little expectantly.

“Yes,” Cole sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “He was so sad. He did something very bad and now something even worse is going to happen and he is worried...frightened for his people.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Varric walked up behind them, eying Cole.

“You've felt sadness before,” Astlyr pointed out. “You've felt people dying, but I have never seen you cry. Not once.”

Cole hugged himself, “his sadness is different. Its so big. Like it fills up the whole room. Fills up the whole world.”

“So we might be dealing with something a little more intimidating than a small spirit,” Dorian folded his arms. “Wonderful.”

“He's pointing to something else!” Cullen called from the war room.

The group turned to go back inside, Astlyr glanced at Cole, “maybe you should stay out here,” she suggested. He nodded, looking glum, which she had to remind herself was normal for him.

Back in the war room the bird had flopped over to another point on the map. “The temple of Mythal?” Astlyr squinted at the point where the bird had plunged its little beak.

“So where do we go? The temple of Mythal or Sacred Ashes?” asked Varric.

“We go?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“There is no way we're not going with you after all this,” Dorian was wearing a coy smirk.

A tapping sound caught all of their attention. The bird was striking its hooked beak again and again in the spot which indicated the Temple of Mythal. Astlyr folded her arms. “Seems we are going there first.” It was a struggle to say that with seriousness. She was about to go on a quest to an elven temple at the instruction of a dead bird.

“Well, we won't be going tonight,” Cullen glanced at the tall window. The sun was well on its way to setting behind the mountains.

Astlyr scooped up the bird and set it back in its basket. “I'll put this little fellow in my room for the night.”

Later she and her friends gathered for dinner (sans Cole, who didn't eat) in the Skyhold tavern. Iron Bull joined them with his crew, as well as Cassandra, but Astlyer and her group didn't mention the bird situation. There was a silent agreement between them that until they figured out what was going on they would keep it to themselves.

Sera appeared with some cookies for them all to try. They were terrible, but Astlyr managed three, counting on her superior Qunari constitution. A quick game of Wicked Grace was played, which Astlyr almost won before Varric skillfully swept the victory away from her. She was feeling pretty good as she made her way up to her room.

The bird was still in its basket, its eyes shining in the waning light of the fire she had set it in front of. She knelt to prod the fire back into life and glanced at the small creature. “You make Cole cry,” she said, her dark brows coming together. “You're more than what you seem to be, but I can't figure out what. I feel like I should remember you. Maybe from one of my Fade walks.” The bird made a soft peep and picked at its blankets with its beak. “Why did you leave the Fade? Why inhabit a dead bird? Do you want to go back to the Fade? I can help you get back.” she held out her marked hand, palm up. The bird butted his head against her fingers. She gave it a little scratch on its forehead, which it seemed to enjoy. “Ah well. I suppose we'll find out in the morning.” she sighed. She was about to change into her night attire, then turned and put a thin blanket over the bird so he wouldn't watch, almost laughing at herself as she did so.

After changing she built up the fire one last time. The weather was starting to turn here in the mountains. Winter was heading steadily their way. She tugged the blanket off of her new friend, who seemed to awkwardly snuggle into its new nest.

Astlyr crawled into bed and fell asleep easily.

~~~~

She was dreaming, and she knew she was dreaming. This was new. The world around her was green, but not with plant life. Instead it was the unnatural, sickly, emerald light of The Fade. She gritted her teeth. She had come to hate The Fade, even though she knew her body was safely tucked away in her bed this time. Distantly she heard a roar, and she had fought enough dragons to know what it was. It seemed to be at a safe distance, but she knew how The Fade worked. She moved to seek cover behind a floating boulder. Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She spun, her hand straying to where a sword should have been. Instead she realized she was wearing garb she had never seen before. She didn't have time to ponder the wardrobe change as a dark creature slunk from the shadow of a hill shaped like a face.

It was a wolf. Black as jet, with blue eyes like twin jewels set in an angular face. It was a smallish wolf, she noticed, and he was alone, or at least he seemed to be. He also looked underfed. He lifted his head, ears pricked, watching her with an intensity she wasn't sure she liked. Somewhere the dragon roared again and the wolf looked and sniffed the air. Seemingly satisfied he fixed his gaze back on her. “So what now?” she asked.

The wolf padded towards her, bright eyes shining. She was torn between approaching him and moving to a more defensible position. She even admitted to herself that she felt a little bit like petting him. He looked surprisingly soft. Finally she decided, and took a knee, reaching out towards him. Here in The Fade the anchor on her hand glowed. The wolf reached his tapered nose forward and touched her fingertips.

Astlyr woke with a start, sitting bolt upright. Her hand was throbbing and shining with green light. The pain and brightness faded almost at once, and as she blinked in the semi-dark she suddenly uncertain that she had felt it at all. Then she saw a glowing orb across the room and she jumped before she realized that it was the single eye of the bird staring at her. She shuddered under its intense gaze, “Stop that. It's creepy.”

The bird didn't stop staring. Astlyr groaned, rolled out of bed, and put the blanket back over the top of the unnerving creature. Then she toppled back onto her mattress and fell asleep, though she no longer dreamed.


	2. The Wolf in the Temple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that chapter 1 was edited today as well. Some things have changed, the most important being that the first place the bird pointed out (the place of his shame) has changed from the battleground to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Other edits are mostly cosmetic grammar and spelling corrections.
> 
> My husband is now on board and helping me with this little gem, and we are both very excited about working on it. We hope you all enjoy.

Part 2  
The Wolf in the Temple

Astlyr tightened the cinch on the saddle of her favorite mount. A dappled grey, thick legged gelding named Smoke. He turned his massive head towards her for a pat. She looked across the horse's back to see where her friends were preparing their own mounts. Dorian's a handsome bay with an elegant neck. Cullen's charger was palomino, and its glistening coat matched the knight's gold colored hair. Astlyr stifled a smile. She couldn't see the short horse Varric rode. The beast was not small enough to be a pony, but compared to the others it was tiny.

The stable master was also saddling a dun colored pack horse. This was Cole's preferred mount, though he only rode when he felt like it. Usually he just popped into existence when they had reached their destination. Astlyr usually tied the horse's reins to her own saddle so it would keep up with the group.

“Are we ready?” She asked. She titled her head to peer out of the stable at the sun, which barely shone above the wall of the keep. She had woken her companions early to begin their strange adventure. The ride to the temple would be a long one, but she was also not eager to attracted attention to herself. She had even sworn the stable master to secrecy. He simply shook his head and smiled. He knew better than to question her after all the places she had been, not the least of which had been into the Fade itself. Twice.

“We're ready,” Varric opened the stall door and led his mount out into the cool dawn. Frost was clinging to the grass, but his horse still made a grab for it with an eager chomp.

Astlyr checked the satchel she had hanging at her side. It had once contained maps, and any herbs she collected in her travels, but now it was full of ruffled feathers and two mismatched eyes. The little falcon peeped, as if in greeting She shook her head and led Smoke out of the stable.

Once they were all in the saddle (Varric needed the aid of a mounting block) the group set out. Their breath clouded before them in little puffs and Dorian muttered something about being glad he brought his warmest cloak. Cole appeared briefly on his horse, who was a docile beast that didn't flinch at the sudden weight. “You alright to come today?” Astlyr asked him as she nudged Smoke to a trot.

“I am,” the spirit boy answered, watching the bird intensely where it peeked out of the satchel.

“Alright,” she said. It was true, Cole had seemed much calmer that day. Well, calm for him.

The boy vanished again and the ride began in earnest.

~~~~~

By the time they reached the temple dusk was threatening again. Astlyr shifted. She would never admit that her ass was thoroughly sore after a day in the saddle. They had only broken their journey briefly to have lunch beside a rather picturesque river, before moving on again. Astlyr was pleased that they encountered no bandits, nor any sign of a stray red templar or two. Instead they spied homes being repaired and people preparing their fields for winter. She recognized her own inquisition soldiers, now with no one to battle, aiding in the efforts.

Astlyr tilted her head back, eying the temple before her. It was a wild looking place and extremely overgrown. Statues of a winged woman, which she could now identify as Mythal, the all mother and goddess of the elves, stood sentinel. Their eyes seemed to watch her, Astlyr thought, as she slid from the saddle and patted Smoke's thick neck.

She slipped off the horse's bridle and saddle not know how long they would be inside the temple. Her friends did the same with their own mounts. “What do you suppose the bird wants in there?” Varric asked as his newly freed horse charged eagerly to the nearest shrub to devour it.

“I don't know,” Astlyr chewed a corner of her lip. She had met Mythal, or at least someone claiming to be the old god, once before, and not nearly long enough ago for her liking. “The Eluvian here is broken, at least according to Morrigan. The well of sorrows is empty of all its knowledge. I'm not sure what the bird wants. Perhaps it is an elvish spirit and this is where it feels at home.”

“Could it be a demon?” Dorian asked, pulling his staff from its place on his back. “I know we're all thinking it. It could be leading us to some elaborate trap.”

“It is not a demon,” Cole appeared beside him and Dorian jumped, then rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Well, as long as you're sure,” Cullen muttered, staring uncertainly at the temple. “Was this place always so...unsettling?”

Astlyr shook a cloudy feeling from her mind. The time she had visited the temple before she had sensed something, but it had not felt dangerous. Powers moving in the trees. But it was warm, perhaps even welcoming. Had it been because she had Solas, an elf, with her? Now she was without one, and this elven place did not like the look of her and her companions. “Just...be on your guard,” she said, sliding her shield into her arm. When she did so the bird in its satchel was completely concealed from sight.

They entered cautiously, eying the altar which stood before them. Astlyr wondered if she should redo the rituals she had used that day to enter the temple as a friend. As she approached the tiles before her glowed bright golden and blue. It seemed to remember her. She gestured her followers on. Occasionally she glanced at the bird to see if it was having any reaction, but it sat docilely in the bag. She began wondering if it had been a fluke that he had pointed this place out. Perhaps he had just been unable to reach the part of the map he had intended to show her. Perhaps they should have gone to the Temple of Sacred Ashes first. Maybe the bird was just crazy...or she was.

They walked on, past the gigantic hole in the ground that Corypheus' men had used to reach The Well. She had not been able to follow so easily. She had felt compelled to preform the temple's rituals. To be welcomed into that place rather than smashing her way in. As Tal-Vashoth she had grown up away from the Qun, and her mother and father did not believe in The Maker either. She had never much pondered what she believed in, but she could admit to herself that the lore of the elvish gods were what intrigued her the most. They were so ancient, yet still seemed to have some pull in the world. She had seen little sign of The Maker or his supposed bride, even if Astlyr herself was supposed to have been linked to them.

Suddenly the bird rustled in the satchel. Astlyr lifted her shield arm and looked down. It was staring intently out at something. She followed its gaze. The statue of the wolf. The only one she had seen in the temple. Solas had explained that the Dread Wolf was not usually found in Mythal's temples. That the creature was believed responsible for the old gods' disappearance. As they drew nearer Astlyr noticed that this statue had been recently cleaned. Cleared of moss and vines, which grappled with every other edifice in the place. “Someone has been here,” she muttered. “Cole, do you sense anyone?”

Cole seemed distracted. “Many bad things have happened here... I leave my child beside the alter. I cannot care for her. I pray that the goddess will shine her light over her.” he tilted his head another way, hat flopping, “I pray to the goddess for life. This illness has hollowed me out and left nothing but pain and emptiness. My wife will no longer sleep with me.” He stepped to the right, as though trying to hone in on something. “My sister and I come every day. The sky is closed and we pray, but no one answers. We have prepared for this all our lives, why does he not come? What have we done to displease him?”

The bird fluttered in the satchel, straining towards the statue. Astlyr slid her hands in and lifted the creature free from the bag. It bit her hand and clamored. Fortunately she was wearing gloves or she might have dropped the fragile beast. “Alright, alright!” she said, setting it down in a clump of weeds at the foot of the wolf statue. “Is that what you want?”

The bird gave a satisfied peep and settled down, as if to rest, though what a dead bird needed with rest she couldn't say. She and her friends did a quick sweep of the area looking for danger. Cole picked up several more painful memories, but nothing which sounded like it pertained to the situation at hand. All Astlyr saw in the fading dusk light were beautiful statues and some very healthy looking plant life. A nug scampered by and Varric shot it deftly. “Dinner,” he explained, pulling the crossbow bolt free of the pink flesh. “It looks like birdy is settling in for the night, so I assume we are as well.”

“I suppose we are. We carried the thing all the way here, so we might as well stay and figure out what it wants.” Astlyr sighed, walking back to the stone wolf. She examined the creature's face, but the years had smoothed away most of the details. Still, the eyes seemed to lock on her from time to time, if she should happen to look suddenly up at it. She built a fire under those watchful eyes, and as the stars came out to decorate the sky, which they could see easily through the open roof of the temple, she settled herself down.

They ate nug roasted over the fire and chatted. Cole moved about occasionally, as he did not need to eat. As he passed Astlyr he brushed her back with his leg and hesitated, “I don't know who I am. What is the purpose of me? Am I destined to be judged only by a mark on my hand? Because I came to the aid of an old woman instead of turning away? Who am I, truly?”

“Cole, sweetie,” she touched his arm to snap him out of it, “I told you not to do that to us so much.”

Cole dipped his head, “I'm sorry. I am getting better. I do not pluck your sadness from the air, but sometimes when I touch you it is harder...”

“It's alright,” she smiled at him, “just keep working on it.”

He nodded, and didn't look quite so forlorn, which Astlyr was coming to know as the closest he would get to a happy expression. Cullen turned to Varric, “so you know any stories about old wolfie here?” he gestured to the statue which almost seemed to be watching over them.

“I think I heard one once,” the dwarf cleared his throat. “The wolf god is called Fen'Heral by the elvish people and they believe he is a trickster and never one to cross. One day a village was being plagued by a monster that came at night to attack them. They called on Fen'Heral to slay the beast. So fen'Heral came and he fired an arrow straight up into the air with his great bow. Then he turned and began to leave. The people called after him...” here Varric did comical villager voices, “But you will not stay and protect us as we asked?!” Then he did a booming voice for the wolf, “that is not what you asked.” the dwarf cleared his throat, smiling at the eager listeners. Even Cole had plopped down beside Astlyr, legs folded and eye sparkling. Varric continued, “so that night the beast did come, and it slaughtered all the remaining hunters. Then the beast murdered all the mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers in the village. Finally it turned to the children, who were huddled all together, and it opened its mouth to gobble them up...” he paused for dramatic effect, hands poised before the fire to cast monster shadows on the wall. “When the Fen'Heral's arrow came down and straight into the beast's open mouth, killing it on the spot! The children wept for their slain families, but they lived on. The people say that when you call upon the wolf he will always do as he promises, but he will seldom do as you expect.” Varric finished with solemnity.

“Maybe we shouldn't be camping just here,” Dorian said tensely, glancing up at the looming statue. In the firelight the beast did look a little hungry, Astlyr thought with a shudder. But the bird seemed more content than she had yet seen it. It nestled in the tuft of grass, looking restful.

“Perhaps not,” she admitted, “but we're here now, so we might as well see it through. Besides, we've defeated demons, dragons and just about anything else that thought it was a good idea to go up against us. I think we can handle whatever this wolf throws our way.”

“We've never fought a dog before,” Cole mused as he walked across a fallen log with perfect balance.

“Thank you, kid,” Varris snarked, checking Bianca's bowstrings to be sure they were well waxed.

“So who takes first watch?” asked Cullen, who was setting out everyone's bedrolls.

“I don't sleep,” Cole hopped down from the log and strolled back into the firelight.

“Perhaps not,” Cullen agreed, pulling his sword of its sheath and laying it beside his bedroll. “but you do tend to wander a bit. Perhaps we should take it in turns to stay up with him.”

“I'll go first,” said Dorian. “You all get some rest and I'll keep an eye on spooky and spookier,” he gestured from the wolf to Cole with a wry smile on his lips.

“I'll take second,” Varric volunteered.

Astlyr spoke up next. “So that's me on the dawn shift then,” said Cullen, skillfully unbuckling the side of his armor and pulling his breastplate off. Then he shrugged off the chain mail shirt he wore under it.

Astlyr did likewise with her armor. Sleeping in chain mail was unpleasant, even more so if you were sleeping on the ground. Finally she propped up her pillows so she could sleep without driving her horns into the dirt. “Good sleep everyone,” she said to her companions.

“Good sleep,” They replied, either settling down for slumber, or for watchfulness. 

Astlyr spared one more look at the wolf statue and the creature nestled beneath it. The bird was looking at her again, with the same eery intensity as he had the night before. His single eye a light orb as it reflected the firelight. “I really hope we're not camping in an elven temple under a wolf for no reason,” she muttered to the bird. It blinked slowly. She sighed and fell asleep.

 

She dreamed again, as she had expected to, of the fade. Green, glowing, ominous, and made more-so by the sound of a nearby dragon. This time she was certain she could hear the beating of massive wings in the stillness. She looked for the wolf, but she didn't see him. Then the ground shook violently and Astlyr almost fell over, grabbing a small, twisted tree. As she grasped it it turned to ash in her hand and floated away.

Then a new sound reached her ears. Voices. Hundreds of voices, all speaking together. She couldn't separate anything they were saying. They chattered, there was singing, even what she thought was weeping. She resisted the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. Finally the voices joined together and all hissed together “Fen'Heral,” then their deafening, unintelligible voices surged on.

“Fen'Heral?” Astlyr tried. “Dread Wolf, are you here?” Up until that moment she had not even been certain she could speak here. Her voice rang out, instead of being drowned by the cacophony of other speakers.

And there he was, looking as small and scrawny as before, but with the same, very blue eyes. Just as the night before she reached towards him and he placed his nose against her hand. Then she work up.

It was Varric's shift on watch and she blinked awake to hear the dwarf singing quietly. “Follow the river,  
speak to the giver,  
gentle the mother,  
who calls me home.  
Lost in the wild,  
I am a child,  
finding the mother,  
who calls me home.” His voice was husky and pleasant.

Astlyr smiled, propping her head up on a hand, her dreams already fading from her memory. “I don't think I've heard that one,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. She could make out the shapes of Cullen and Dorian. She had to stifle a giggle when she was the mage. He had practically kicked out of his bed roll and was sleeping in a position that would leave Astlyr with a serious kink in her back the next morning. He looked restful, if disheveled.

“That song's one of mine,” Varric admitted. “Not sure how I feel about it yet. Once I put some polish on it I'll sing it for everyone some night.”

“I like it,” Cole stepped out of the shadows, his pale face shining in the firelight.

“I'm glad you approve,” Varric chuckled. “You woke up kind of suddenly, Inquisitor. Bad dreams?”

Astlyr gave Varric a mock-annoyed look, “I told you to stop calling me Inquisitor. I'm Astlyr. I don't know how long I'll be the Inquisitor, but I'll always be Astlyr.”

“Maybe I'll just call you 'pointy'” he gestured to her horns.

“Pass,” she groaned. “I really don't need more reminders of how different I am from everyone else. As to my dreams,” she pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, “I think it had something to do with him,” she gestured towards the wolf statue, “but I can't remember what.”

“Well, hopefully it wasn't a prophecy then. One of those 'you're destined to save the world...or maybe bring the wolf god a good stew bone.'” Varris grinned as he tucked himself into his bedroll, “As long as you're up, I'm going to turn in.”

Astlyr nodded and got comfortable. She scooted herself to sit with her back against the statue. The bird, beside her hip, looked up at her and made a quite peep. She petted its head with her finger and it seemed pleased. Cole walked over and sat on her other side. She stared ahead into the quiet darkness. “Anything happening out here tonight?” Astlyr asked.

“No,” Cole said. “I can feel the past moving here. There is so much.”

“Its not too overwhelming is it?” She asked.

“No,” a quick grin flitted on his wan face, “Skyhold is worse. All that pain is present. Everyone is so loud sometimes. I like to go high up some times. Pain stays near the ground.”

“I did not know that.”

“How could you?” Cole asked, his voice matter of fact.

“Cole. Do you miss Solas? I know you and he were friends.” She tilted her head to see his face.

“Yes,” he answered, simply. “I know you miss him too. Astlyr...”

“Yes, Cole?”

“I wanted you to know that I'm glad you helped. When that woman- the divine- when she called for help, you went. That memory was how I first knew I could trust you. You often wonder if it was a mistake. Helping is never a mistake.” he prodded the fire with a twig. “I am happy you are my friend, Astlyr.”

“I'm happy that I'm your friend too, Cole,” she patted his knee, hoping the gesture wouldn't cause him to voice any pain she might be having to the world. This time he said nothing, but he rewarded her with a thin smile.

After her turn on watch Astlyr woke Cullen, reported that she and Cole had seen nothing of note, and fell back asleep. This time she had no dreams.

~~~~~

She was woken in the morning by Cullen's hand squeezing her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see him kneeling beside her, his face tense. “There's someone here,” he hissed.

Astlyr blinked in the sunlight that was already making the temple glow golden and green. “Where,” she breathed, casually reaching for her shield.

“Right there,” Cullen gestured with his head.

Two elves stood, staring open mouthed at the group camped in front of the wolf statue. The two seemed as surprised as Astlyr and her friends. The quanri took in the pair with a practiced eye. A man and a woman, with youthful faces which bore identical tattoos. These red markings seemed to be shaped like fangs coming down over their brows and on their chins, as though they looked out from the mouth of a beast. The young man was gripping a mage's staff and the woman had a bow slung across her slender shoulder. Both had brown hair with a slight curl to it, and even stood at the same height. Astlyr guessed they were related. “Er,” she stood up slowly, “hello.”

“Are you...” the man spoke, his dark eyes wide as two saucers.

“The Inquisitor, yes,” Astlyr sighed, watching out of the corner of her eye as Cullen woke the others. She had to stifle a smile at Dorian's hair, which was all sticking up on one side. He had a line of drool on his cheek. Cole was no where to be seen. Good thing we look so intimidating, Astlyr thought wryly, squaring her shoulders and wondering how her own hair was behaving.

“No,” the young man pushed right past her and dropped to his knees beside the bird.

“Is that?” the woman spoke, also rushing forward.

Astlyr stood aside, baffled. “Hello,” she tried again. “perhaps a little introduction is in order?”

The man did not take his eyes from the bird, and his expression was intense and reverent. Like he couldn't decide whether to cry or shout with joy. The woman turned to face Astlyr, “Are you the escort?”

“Er...sure?”

Cullan and Varric came to stand beside her looking as baffled as she felt. Dorian joined them, his mage's staff in hand. The elven woman scrutinized the group, “I thought there would be at least one elf. This is very strange.”

Cole popped into existence beside Astlyr and the elvish woman grabbed for her bow. “Whoa, whoa, easy!” Astlyr said, extending her hands in a soothing gesture.

Cole spoke, extending a thin hand towards the woman.“We come here every day. Our clan has shunned us. Our family will no longer see us, but we know. We know,”

“What on earth is this?” the elf woman asked, scrutinizing Cole.

“He's a spirit,” Astlyr realized she was fast losing whatever control she had had over the conversation, “his name is Cole. I'm Astlyr and this is Cullen, Varric and Dorian. We didn't mean to disturb your temple. We came here because...well because that bird told us to come,” she knew how ridiculous this sounded even as she said it.

The male elf had picked up the bird and was cradling it in his hands as though it was made of a precious and fragile substance. The woman spoke again, “My name is Myfanwy and this is my brother, Daveth. We, like you, are followers of Fen'Heral. We have been preparing for this day all our lives!” she sounded a little breathless.

Astlyr decided now might not be the time to point out that she and her party were not followers of Fen'Heral. She gave Varric and Cole a meaningful look before either of them opened their mouths to say as much. “This day?” she asked instead.

“My brother has spent his entire life preparing to be a vessel for Fen'Heral.” Myfanwy said, beaming at her sibling.

“It is the greatest honor any elf could hope for,” Daveth spoke for the first time. He as managed to drag his eyes away from the bird, which looked quite pleased with itself as it nestled in the young man's hands.

“Vessel? For a god?” Cullen was eying the bird with distrust. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“I will offer my body for Fen'Heral to use,” Daveth said, smiling fit to burst.

“And this bird is...” Dorian couldn't seem to bring himself to say it, so he gestured towards the statue.

“Of course,” Myfanwy said, raising an elegant eyebrow. “You didn't know?” her expression had become suspicious.

“We...suspected,” Astlyr lied hastily, staring at the little bird. She desperately wanted to ask what an elven god was doing inhabiting a dead falcon, but she decided that once again holding her tongue would be a good idea.

“And your brother here is going to what, again?” Dorian folded his arms.

Myfanwy shot Dorian and annoyed glance, “I just explained. He's spent his life preparing to be a vessel. We both are followers of Fen'Heral. Our own clan disowned us, but we knew that this day would come, and it finally has! We have been bringing offerings and keeping this statue many months.”

“Waiting for the chance to fulfil our lives' mission,” said Daveth, proudly.

“Do you have anything to do with the ancient elves that I saw here before?” Astlyr asked. “The ones who guarded the Well of Sorrows?”

Myfanwy scowled. “No. They are followers of Mythal and they blame the Dread Wolf for her disappearance. We avoid them.”

Daveth gave a dry chuckle, “If they had ever bothered to use the knowledge they guarded they would know that Fen'Heral is innocent.”

“And you two are certain of that?” asked Varric before Astlyr could hush him.

“Of course,” Daveth was staring at the bird again, and began speaking softly to it. “I am so sorry, my lord, for the indignities you must have suffered in this form. I give you my willing permission to use me as your vessel.”

“Wait, wait wait,” Varric raised a hand, “what happens to Daveth when this old god thing takes him over?”

Astlyr had been wondering this herself. She was also more than a little concerned that the creature Daveth was going to allow to take over his body, was not in fact what he thought it was. Or worse, it was, and the famed elven god of mischief was going to cause them serious harm.

“If he tries, we will kill that form,” Cole spoke so quietly Astlyr almost didn't hear him. He must have been sensing her concerns. She touched his bony wrist in a staying motion, as he was already holding his twin, curved blades.

“What do you mean, 'what will happen'?” Myfanwy asked, folding her arms. “the old god will be flesh once again, until a better, willing body can be found for him. My brother has trained his magics all his life to be worthy of this.”

“But what becomes of your brother?” Varric pressed. “Where does Daveth go when a god moves into his body?”

“Daveth will be gone,” Myfanwy shrugged as though this was the farthest concern from her mind. “Perhaps elements of him will remain, but Lord Fen'Harel will have full control of the body.”

“And you want this?” Varric addressed the male elf with concern written on his weathered features.

“Of course!” Daveth said, emphatically. “This is the greatest honor any of us could ever ask for! My sister has trained to assist the process and soon we will allow our god to walk the earth again!”

“Oh Maker,” Cullen exhaled. Astlyr heard the faint squeak of leather as the warrior's grip tightened on the hilt of his greatsword.

“You may stay and watch if you like,” said Myfanwy, “as you are the ones who brought him to us.”

“I think we had better,” Astlyr muttered, pulling her shield onto her arm and drawing her own blade. “Precautions,” she said in her firmest voice when the two elves looked at her askance.

“You are a most unexpected escort for Lord Fen'Heral,” Myfanwy said, her brows coming together, making the teeth tattooed on her face seem to close like jaws biting down. “But these are very strange times.”

“They are at that,” Dorian agreed good-naturedly, readying his staff. Purplish magic coiled around the man's free hand.

“Are you ready?” Myfanwy asked Daveth, turning and grasping her sibling's shoulders.

“I have been waiting for this all our lives, sister,” he said, smiling at her. “I love you.” he kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” she graced his cheek with a kiss of her own, then she stepped back. She unslung her bow and used it to draw a circle in the mossy earth around her sibling and the bird he still held. Then she stepped back and gave him a nod.

Daveth lifted the bird so it was face to face with him, “Please, Lord Fen'Heral, take my unworthy form. I am willing. I rejoice to give it.”

The bird gave a final peep and went limp as black smoke slithered from its eyes and mouth, coiling out and into the eyes of the elvish man. He stiffened as the smoke coiled around him. More than Astlyr had been expecting from such a small bird. This was definitely going to Varric's book, she mused. Fiction was where it belonged. Still, she stood ready, shield and sword raised. She wished she had had time to get her armor on. If this was a demon, it was likely very powerful.

Purple coils of electricity snaked around the young man's feet, but did not escape the circle his sister had drawn. Finally the smoke seemed to have left the bird completely and the limp creature tumbled from the elf's hands and hit the ground with a sad 'thup'. Daveth stood, still stiff, head back now as if he was taking in the morning sky. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his jaw hanging slack.

All around them the sound of wolves howling erupted. Astlyr and her team spun and turned, trying to find the massive pack that must have them encircled. They saw nothing, though the howling grew loud and powerful. Then it stopped as quickly as it had begun and she turned back to look at the young man. He was standing normally now. His face had changed. The shape of his eyes, and their color were different. Rather than the dark brown he and his sister had shared, they shone with a blue light. His tattoo was gone, leaving clean, pale flesh. His posture was also changed. A slight rounding of the shoulders which Astlyr found suddenly very familiar, even as she could not pull her gaze from those eyes she felt she knew.

When he spoke it was no longer with Daveth's voice. The tone was softer, and had a delicate lilt Astlyr was certain she had heard many times before. The old god looked directly at Astlyr, “My friend.” he said, before his eyes rolled back, his knees buckled, and he collapsed into Myfanwy's waiting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: 12/26/14


	3. Sleeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I hope you all had an excellent holiday (whatever you might have celebrated) Here's my gift to you! Chapter 3!

Part 3  
Sleeper 

“What?” The word broke from Astlyr's lips like an breath.

“Astlyr,” Cole's voice had an edge to it. Fear? “Why did he sound like-?”

“Shhhh, Cole,” she whispered tensely to her spirit friend. She was not certain if he was picking up on her concern, or if he too had recognized the voice.

“He will sleep now, to regain his strength. He is extremely weakened,” Myfanwy was explaining as she lowered the person who had once been her brother to the ground with great care. There were tears in her eyes, though Astlyr didn't know if they were of loss or reverence.

“Well, if it is a demon, it is playing a slightly longer game than expected,” Dorian said, letting the magic in his hand settle with a motion.

“This is no demon,” Myfanwy growled, gently arranging her new charge's head on a tuft of grass. “This is Lord Fern'Heral the Dread Wolf, and you would be wise to show some respect.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but we can't start genuflecting to everything that claims to be a god. If we did that, we'd never stop kneeling,” Varric cut in.

Astlyr was still staring at the unconscious elf. If he was a demon he was like none she had ever seen. Though she knew they could take over human bodies, and then look like the human they inhabited. This one had slightly changed the body. That was new. After a moment she slid her sword back into its sheath. “We'll take him back to Skyhold.”

“What?” Cullen gasped, staring at her with wide eyes.

“We don't know for certain what this thing is, but if it is dangerous, what better way to deal with it than keeping it well guarded?”

“Or bringing it into our home where it can more easily slit our throats?” Varric looked up at her with a look so incredulous his eyebrows seemed ready to mutiny and abandon his brow all together.

“What are you talking about?” asked Myfanwy, eying the group.

“We want to take...Fen'Heral, back with us to our fortress.” Astlyr explained.

“We?” Cullen retorted. “You want to bring it back, and I cannot comprehend why. This seems foolhardy, Astlyr, and that is a word I do not normally associate with you.”

“Cole,” Astlyr said, turning to the young spirit, who was still standing uneasily beside and now slightly behind her. “Can you tell if that thing is a demon?”

“It is not a-” Myfanwy began, but Varric cut her off.

“Yes, we know. To you he's The Dread Wolf,” Varric too turned to Cole, “How about it, Kid?”

The boy stepped timidly from behind Astlyr's shoulder. She had never seen him act like this. Whatever he did, no matter how strange, he usually did with confidence. Cole extended a hand towards the still figure on the ground, but he did not touch it. Astlyr could not see his face, but his shoulders tensed. “What is he doing?” Myfanwy asked, staring suspiciously at the young man in the over-large hat.

“I can still feel the sadness,” Cole spoke and Astlyr could tell he was not channeling, as he usually did, “but it is locked away in slumber. I cannot easily break through. A veil of smoke hides him. I sense no malice behind the curtain.” he stepped back, lowering his hand. He tilted his head to look up at Astlyr with his grey eyes, “I do not think it is a demon.”

“Oh, well, if Cole doesn't think so,” Varric was still looking very suspicious. “And what about her?” he gestured to Myfanwy.

“Another excellent question,” Cullen said, folding his arms.

“I am the guardian,” Myfanwy answered, her tone matter-of-fact. “I must accompany Lord Fen'Heral at least until he awakens and can give me further instructions. But he chose you as well. I will defer to your judgment, as long as it is in his best interest.”

“And if you deem our decisions not to be in his best interest?” asked Dorian, “just out of academic curiosity?”

Myfanwy wrinkled her nose as though Dorian had briefly been speaking another language. She shook her dark hair back from her angular, elven features, “Then I would have to attempt to kill you. I doubt I would succeed, so I am very hopeful that Lord Fen'Heral chose well in his companions.”

“Alright everyone,” Astlyr turned to her people, now using the commanding voice which dusted off on rare occasions, “I don't know anything more than you, but I do know something very strange, and possibly not evil has happened here. We have to take the good where we can find it. I would like to take...him” she was uncertain what to call the young man on the ground, “back to Skyhold. I am still the Inquisitor, though these days I am not certain why, and if that title still yields me any power, then I am making a judgment. We will keep him under strict guard, both mage and warrior. Cole will watch over him as well,” she suspected she would have a hard time keeping the curious spirit away anyhow. “At the first sign of demon-y behavior we kill, no questions asked. Anyone have any concerns to voice, voice them now.”

“No Ma'am,” Cullen snapped to smart attention. Varric and Dorian laughed at him, but then Dorian saw Astlyr's look and straightened his own shoulders, dipping his head in ascent to her ruling. Only Varric hesitated. “If you think this is the right thing to do, Inquisitor,” the dwarf finally said.

“I do,” Astlyr nodded. She glanced sideways at Cole, willing him not to speak. No doubt the spirit boy knew just how uncertain she actually was. He did meet her eyes, but he managed to keep quiet, for which she was intensely grateful. “We have horses waiting outside the temple. We'll carry him there and then put him on a horse and head back to Skyhold.”

“Very well,” Myfanwy bowed from the waist to Astlyr. It was clear the elf had figured out who was in charge. “This Skyhold...is it a village? You said fortress, but I do not know what one of those looks like.”

“You've never seen a fortress?” Varric asked, dubious.

“I have lived in the wilds all my life,” Myfanwy shrugged. “My brother and I avoided humans and larger villages because we knew how important it was that we remain free and able to help our lord.”

“Riiiight,” Varric said, with an expression that implied he thought Myfanwy had a few screws loose.

“Let's get him up, shall we?” Cullen took charge of the situation, deftly. He strode over to the limp figure. Seemingly on a whim he knelt and felt for a pulse. He gave Astlyr a quick non of affirmation before scooping up the young man in a shoulder carry. “Shall we?”

“Let's.” Astlyr agreed, hurrying with the others to hastily pack up their camp. Then, with Myfanwy walking beside Cullen, her expression concerned as she made sure the unconscious figure's head did not loll too much, the group made their way out of the temple.

Once outside the overgrown temple walls Astlyr and her friends whistled for their horses. Smoke came trotting up, leading the others. Astlyr strapped her packs to his back and then she buckled her armor on with an unwilling feeling. The day was too fair to be burdened down by so much. Cullen pulled on his chain shirt and breastplate, but left his shoulder pauldrons in the pack. He rode with the strange elf before him in the saddle, propped against him.

~~~~~

As they made their way along a narrow wooded path, single file, with Myfanwy on Cole's horse, Astlyr was feeling remarkably good about the situation. She felt certain that once they got back to Skyhold, and this strange spirit person woke up, that they would finally have some answers, not the least of which was why he had spoken to her in that voice.

There was a faint whistle, then a solid 'thunk' and she heard Cullen yell. Before she even had a chance to turn there was another whistle and something sliced her brow at the hairline and clattered against her horn. Blood began instantly pouring into her right eye. Reacting as quickly as she was able she reached down and grabbed her shield, which hung on a special strap on her saddle.

“Rally!” she shouted to her people, jerking Smoke's reins around. Dorian was already out of the saddle, Varric drawing Bianca. Cullen was one the ground, having clearly fallen from his mount, and was struggling to regain his feet. An arrow was buried deeply into the bicep of his left arm. The unconscious elf was beside him in the dirt.

“Where are they?!” Astlyr growled, scanning the forest around them, sliding from the saddle. She gave Smoke a slap on the rump and the horse moved out of her way as best he could in the dense trees.

More arrows hissed in, but this time she was ready and they pinged harmlessly off her shield. Others lodged in the loam around the feet of her friends, or into nearby trees.

“I've got them!” Cole appeared briefly in front of her then vanished again, knives drawn.

Another cluster of arrows flew from the forest towards Cullen and the fallen elf. Dorian reacted faster than Astlyr thought possible, calling a wall of ice to stop the projectiles. Myfanwy loaded her own bow, firing several rapid shots between the trees. She was rewarded by the thud of a body hitting the earth. “Over there!” Varric shouted, aiming Bianca.

Astlyr felt useless without ranged weapons or the power to teleport she was pointless in this fight. She turned towards Cullen, who still crouched, also seemingly unsure what to do. She planted her shield in the dirt as she squatted behind it, so they were concealed on one side by the shield and on the other by the legs of Cullen's horse. “I don't think he was badly hurt when we fell,” Cullen said of their elven charge as she turned to face her.

“What about you?” she gestured to his arm.

“I'll process that when the adrenaline wears off. You've got your own.” he nodded towards her.

Astlyr swiped warm blood from her eye with annoyance. It was making it difficult for her to see, but the pain was not bad. There was another metallic ring as an arrow struck her shield.

They heard strangled screams from the trees to their left, and shortly two more in the direction that Dorian and Varric had fired their magic and bolts. Then Cole blinked back into the group, an intense expression of anger on his features. “I killed them,” he said.

“I believe we helped,” Dorian interjected, coiling magic back around himself and hurrying to the side of the wounded.

“My lord!” Myfanwy gasped, dropping to her knees beside her fallen deity.

Cole was with Cullen then, kneeling and checking over the arrow. “This goes deep. Biting. Needs a healer.”

“Yes,” Cullen said between gritted teeth, “I agree.”

Cole placed his hands around the arrow, “sooth,” he breathed.

Cullen's face cleared slightly, and he gave Cole a quick smile. “That's is an interesting trick.”

“We still need a healer,” the boy said, standing and turning to Astlyr. He took a knee in front of her crouched form and placed a cool hand on her brow. “This is not bad. Sooth,” he said, and she felt the pain lesson considerably.

“Let's see,” Dorian moved to see Astlyr's wound as well. He placed firm fingers under her jaw. “Just fix your gaze on my glorious face while I check for damage to your eye.”

“It's fine Dorian,” Astlyr assured him, but she let her friend fuss. “It missed my eye, it's just bleeding like mad.”

“You can never be too careful with head wounds,” the mage replied, wiping away blood with great gentleness.

“Who were they?” Astlyr asked as Cole moved back to comfort Cullen.

“Elves,” answered the boy, simply.

“But we're helping elves,” Varric sounded annoyed.

“They're from a nearby Dalish tribe,” Myfanwy explained, checking a shallow cut on her thigh where a arrow had grazed her.

Astlyr nodded to a mark on Cole's cheek. It was dark, not like the bright red blood a human would sustain, but she knew it was a cut. “Looks like they fought back a bit.”

“They did not want to die,” Cole's voice had an edge to it.

“So we're helping Dalish and being attacked by Dalish?” asked Cullen. He grabbed the arrow lodged in his arm and broke it off with a firm motion and a grimace. Cole placed his hands to sooth the wound again.

Myfanwy glared at him as though she thought he was stupid. “Do all humans live in the same tribe? Do all humans have the same beliefs? Of course not. Those that attacked are new to the area, but their hunters had noticed my brother and I bringing offerings to the temple. I do not know if they merely feared you, or if they suspected we had Lord Fen'Heral with us. They believe that our lord was responsible for the death of the other gods.”

“You mentioned that before,” Varris nodded, eying the surrounding forest with distrust.

“Did you kill them all?” Astlyr asked.

“I will check,” Cole vanished.

Dorian expertly wound a bandage around Astlyr's head, careful of her horns, “there we are. Good as new.”

Astlyr stood, pleased that there was no hint of dizziness from a concussion. Qunari had hard skulls, and the arrow had struck the thicker bone at the base of her horn. “Can you ride?” She asked Cullen.

Dorian scrutinized the arrow lodged in the warrior's arm, “I don't see a lot of bleeding. As long as you keep the arm still you should be alright.”

Cullen nodded curtly. “Someone else can ride with sleepy though,” he nodded with resentment to the limp figure in the grass.

“They are all dead,” Cole reappeared, looking solemn.

“Alright,” Astlyr whistled and Smoke gathered the scattered horses back together, “let's get home. I'm ready for this adventure to be over.”

~~~~

“You brought back what?!” Cassandra was using a voice she usually reserved for battling demons and informing her men when they had done something particularly idiotic.

“This is interesting,” Iron Bull cut in in his usual level tone.

The group had managed to reach Skyhold without further incident. Now they had gathered in the infirmary where the healers (especially the women) were fussing over Cullen's arm. They were baffled by the elven man who now lay to one side on a bed. “I told you what we did,” said Astlyr, feeling annoyed. She was seated on a bed herself, and a younger healer was checking her head.

“For the record,” Varric raised his hand slightly, “I said this was a bad idea from the beginning.”

“For once you and I agree,” Cassandra folded her arms and glared at the assemblage. “Astlyr, I never imagined you would be the one to bring a potential demon right into Skyhold.”

“He is not a demon,” Myfanwy piped up for the third or fourth time. Her voice was starting to sound tired.

Cas folded her arms. “Yes, so you said. An old god, then. Even if that is true, which I am far from certain I believe, what would stop a god from doing whatever he liked with our fortress?”

“Well, he is unconscious at the moment,” Dorian pointed out before being glared down by Cassandra, “I'll...be over here,” he moved away and began idly fiddling with some of the healing supplies.

Casandra continued. “We don't have the forces here at the moment to hold out against something so powerful.”

“I don't think he's going to be that powerful,” Cullen put in as a healer expertly tucked his arm into a sling, then batted her eyelashes at the handsome warrior. He little noticed. “Myfanwy said it is severely weakened, and I am inclined to believe her. Until now it was inside a dead bird, which can't be good for anyone. As soon as it went into the body of Myfanwy's brother over here it collapsed to sleep it off. If we are dealing with a deity, it's a weakened one.”

Cassandra was not looking reassured. Astlyr sighed, standing up to her full, and impressive, height to look more commanding. “Alright, I'll say it again. For some reason I still have the title of Inquisitor, which means you all must still believe I should be in charge, at least to some degree. I made a decision, I have to live with it. I did not make it without first considering the effects on my people and this fortress. Whatever is laying on that bed came to me for help, and I helped. It's what I do. I know some of you are displeased with my decision, but it was mine to make.”

Cassandra opened her mouth, then closed it again into a hard line, but her expression was assenting.

“Astlyr is right,” Josephine spoke for the first time. She had been sitting in the corner, madly scribbling on her notes. “If we expect her to be our Inquisitor, she cannot be merely a figure head.”

“I understand you gave me my authority during wartime,” Astlyr said, her voice steady, “and now perhaps we should discuss new, better, peacetime leaders.”

Cassandra shook her head, setting her jaw. “I believe that you can be both. I followed you into the Fade. I followed you to take down a giant hole in the sky itself. I can keep my faith in you from faltering so easily.”

Cole, who had been sitting protectively with Cullen, walked over now that the warrior was well taken care of. “The air is full of anxiety,” he said, matter of fact. He glanced at Varric, “I think Cassandra is right. I think we should turn that thing back out into the cold. Or kill it,” he finished, meeting the seeker's gaze.

“Cole, please,” Varric heaved a sigh. “Just because I feel something doesn't mean everyone needs to know it.”

“I want to help,” the spirit said, in a hushed tone.

“Cole, tell them mine,” Astlyr got the boy's attention.

He walked towards her and stopped. She hesitated, then held out her hand. He took hold of her fingertips, a very gentle touch. “My people are frightened and that twists me inside. Like ice creeping though my veins. Cold, cruel, crushing, crashing, crystallizing. I want to reassure, but I can't. I don't have the right words. Have I made a mistake? Have I...I could never harm them. Never. I want to be a good leader to them, and it haunts me always. A dark figure with a knife. Can I keep my shield between them and danger?” he let go, looking at her for approval.

“Thank you, Cole,” she said, meeting the gaze of her followers.

Cassandra nodded. “Alright, Astlyr. We'll keep him here. Under guard at all times.”

“Cole will sit with him too. The second he wakens Cole can teleport to us to let us know,” Astlyr said.

“Very well. As for you...” she addressed Myfanwy.

“I will stay with my lord,” the elf stuck out her chin, her eyes fierce.

“I wasn't going to suggest a dungeon,” the seeker smiled faintly. “Merely that you should be watched carefully. It will be easy to keep an eye on you here, as my men will already by guarding the other newcomer.”

“And some of mine,” Cullen put in. “Templars, in case of magic.”

This seemed to suit Myfanwy, and she sat back down on the bed beside the man that had been her brother.

“Alright, so we have a plan,” Astlyr sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. “Now can we get back to business as usual, at least for the moment. My team and I missed breakfast.”

“I second that,” Cullen said, smiling. “Honestly,” he gave Josie a grin, “this is what happens when you leave Skyhold. I can't recommend it.” She chuckled.

The group, sans Cole, made their way out of the infirmary and towards the tavern. Astlyr hung back with Iron Bull. He tilted his head towards her as they spoke in hushed tones. “That was an interesting leadership tactic,” Bull said, grinning crookedly. “Giving them orders, then showing them your soft underbelly.”

Astlyr sighed, scratching bandages at base of her horn, “I know. In battle it's easy. Watch the flank! Tighten up that shield line! Arrows fire! This peacetime crap is what I'm no good at. Half the time I have no idea why I am still the leader. Because I make an impressive figurehead?” she gestured to herself emphatically.

“If that's all they wanted they'd put me in charge,” Bull chuckled.

“You would probably do better than me,” she said, woefully.

“Believe it or not I'm an even worse peacetime leader than you. Ask Krem. He gets fed up with me when we're not fighting. I'm lazy, you see,” he gave her another lopsided smile, his single eye twinkling.

“But your chargers respect you.”

“Your people respect you.”

“I feel like their respect is hanging by a thread,” Astlyr fidgeted with her white hair, which was falling from its bun. “When I was saving the world it was easy to see why they would follow me, but now...” she paused looked at her hand, which was gloved, but in her mind's eye she saw the mark, dark green and still.

“Well, one thing people don't want to see is a mopey leader,” Bull gave her a playful jostle which would have sent a human tumbling.

She bumped him forcefully back with her hip, smiling as she saw the dragon tooth she had given him hanging on a leather necklace, fall out of his shirt front. He laughed in his too-loud way and tucked it back in. “So, Kadan, I can tell there's more you wanted to talk about besides your poor leadership techniques.”

Astlyr nodded. “I didn't mention it to the others, and only Cole and I seemed to notice, but when the old god thing changed bodies it spoke to me.”

“What did it say?” Bull's thick brows knit.

“'My friend,'” she answered. “But it wasn't what it said that mattered. It was the voice it used. I could have sworn it was...but now I'm thinking I must have imagined it.”

“What? It sounded like your mother? Your long lost best friend, Jim?” he was trying to make her laugh.

“You're not far off, actually,” she said, leaning her shoulder against his. He put his massive arm around her as they walked.

He seemed to ponder, “long lost best friend eh? Well, let's see. I'm right here. Dorian's right there. Who else would you call your...” he hesitated, glancing sideways at her.

She nodded in answer to his look. “I'm certain now that I'm crazy for thinking it. It must have been my imagination, but at the time I could have sworn that that thing-” she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the infirmary, “spoke with Solas' voice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter likely posting: 01/01/15 See you then! Feel free to comment with thoughts and any glaring errors you might have noticed!


	4. The Wolf in the Night

Part 4  
The Wolf in the Night

Astlyr lit a candle on the desk, blinking in the small, but insistent flame. She looked about herself. The shadows in Solas' study stretched around her. She could just make out the artfully painted walls. She often wondered if the scholarly elf had commissioned the work. She doubted he had done them himself, but perhaps... She had never thought him particularly artistic. She lifted the candle, squinting. Qunari had superior night vision, but the room had only one door which led to the outside, and no windows. The darkness was complete without her candle. She had already barked her shin on the desk leg when she had first entered the room.

She sighed, wishing she could see her friend, bent over his work for some late night studying. If ever there was a time to have an expert on the Fade and elves it was now, and he was gone. Her mind strayed to the young man in the infirmary below her. Had he really spoken with that voice she knew, or had she imagined it? The more time went by the more she thought her imagination must have got the better of her. She sighed, glancing over the abandoned papers on his desk, which had been riffled through by the spymaster's people in their effort to learn where Solas had gone.

She moved back to her study of the paintings. Near the floor at the back of the room she found what she was looking for. There were many wolves depicted the on the walls, but most were large and prominent. She sought out a small, black wolf, almost obscured by the much larger figure of a silver moon. She scrutinized the painted canine. It had blue eyes, like the one in her dream, but it seemed different as well. More vicious. Its fangs were bared. Still, she reached out her hand to it, touching its painted nose with her fingertip. Nothing happened. She clicked her tongue at her own ridiculousness and sat back on her heels.

“Can't sleep?”

She turned at the soft voice in the doorway. It was Cullen. He leaned on the door-frame, watching her with a passive expression. She shrugged. “No. I keep trying to fall asleep and seeing wolves as soon as I close my eyes.”

“Normal people count sheep.”

“Sheep eh? I should try that,” she chuckled. “Why are you up?” she rose from her crouch and crossed to sit against the desk (Solas' chair was much too small for her).

“The arm's keeping me awake,” he admitted, gesturing to the sling.

“The healers can give you something for the pain, you know,” she pointed out.

“I don't want it,” he waved away her concern with his good hand. “This kind of pain is what I prefer. It blocks out the other.” He didn't need to elaborate. She knew well his struggle with lyrium and his firm decision to stop taking it. She knew it caused him daily discomfort.

Astlyr sighed and tilted her head back, looking up into the rafters where a pair of swallows had found their way in and had built a winter nest. She finally let her green eyes meet Cullen's gaze again. “Can I admit something to you?”

“Of course,” he smiled, stepping further into the room.

“I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm leading with hunches. I'm telling people to trust me without trusting myself to make the right call,” she fixed him with a baleful eye, “why am I still in charge?” Cullen hesitated, as if weighing his answer. She filled in for him. “It's because of this, isn't it?” she held up her bare hand so he could see the anchor mark in the flickering light. “Because I sealed the rift and now everyone thinks I'm a hero, and heroes lead. But they're wrong.”

“You do a fine job,” Cullen put in, his voice firm. “You're a bit...untried at being a leader when you're not fighting undead or demons, but everyone has to learn. And you're not alone, you know,” Cullen pointed out. “Cas and I are still here, willing and able to help with our mountains of experience with shouting at people.”

Astlyr couldn't help but chuckle. “That's true,” her face fell into seriousness again. “Cullen, will you make a deal with me like you have with Cassandra?”

“What do you mean?” the warrior tilted his head.

“If I do something truly stupid, or something that you feel puts people in too much danger, you take me right out of that situation. You take over, no questions asked. Will you do that for me?”

Cullen gave her words a few moments of thought, his expression serious. “Alright. I doubt it will ever happen, but if it does, I'll take charge. Or at least try,” he looked her up and down. She stood at least a head taller than he, and was quite muscular. He shook his head in obvious admiration, “Well, at least you make an impressive figurehead.”

“Thanks,” she smirked. Cullen winced, holding his wounded arm. “You're sure you wouldn't like a healer?” she asked, touching his other shoulder gently.

“No, no. But thank you, Astlyr,” he smiled thinly up at her.

Then there was a clatter and a guard appeared at the door looking frazzled. “There you are, Inquisitor! Someone said they saw you heading this way, but you are hard to find for someone so...” the guard caught herself.

“Big?” Astlyr filled in.

“I was going to say noticeable,” the woman shrugged, obviously pleased at getting away with a little cheek. “Anyway, Ma'am, you should come at once. It's your friend, Sera. She's gone a bit... more mad than usual. We didn't want to do anything without your say-so ma'am.”

Astlyr hurried to follow the guard, Cullen in tow She ignored the guard's remarks about Sera's sanity. The elf may have been odd, but she was as sane as Astlyr herself. Still, most of the soldiers steered clear of the unusual woman as she was prone to mood swings and deadly baking attempts

The guard led the way down to the infirmary where an unusual standoff was in progress. Sera stood, bow fully drawn, facing off with Myfanwy across the room. The Dalish elf did not have her bow, as it had been confiscated, but she had seemingly managed to grapple a sword away from one of the baffled guards, and was pointing it at Sera. The guards stood back a bit, confused as to how to react. The mage who was with them had magic ready in her hand, but was obviously unsure of who to lob the spell at.

Cole, who had been standing behind Myfanwy, beside the bed, saw Astlyr and blinked over to her side, speaking fast with his eyes fixed on Sera, “Danger is here in our keep! Why wasn't I told? The Inquisitor should have known better...should have known. I'll kill it. I'll end the danger. Have to kill it. Have to protect us. No one else will do it. I'm afraid. Doesn't make sense. Isn't right. Doesn't fit.”

“Alright. What the hell is going on?” Astlyr strode past Cole, though she touched his arm to signal her thanks for his words. She placed her impressive stature between the two elves, facing Sera.

“That thing!” Sera growled, not letting her bowstring go slack, even as she now aimed at Astlyr's ribcage. “It ain't right and it ain't safe! We need to kill it before it turns into something toothy and murders the lot of us!”

“She just marched in here and pulled a weapon on the elf in the bed,” a guard explained.

“Damn right I did,” Sera cut in, “Only, I'm surprised I had to. Where were you at, eh? Making smoochy faces at Iron Bull all this time? There's killing what needs doing here!”

Astlyr reached out a hand hand lowered the arrow's tip towards the floor. “Alright Sera. We're alright. It's time to calm down now.”

“Calm down? Have you gone mental? Those horns of yours worked their way down to stab you in the brain? We have an honest to Maker demon just waiting for us to let our guard down, and you give it a cushy bed? D'you fluff its pillows for it? No. Not alright. Kill it and hurry.”

“Sera, we don't know that it's a demon.” Astlyr pointed out, moving with the elf as she tried to tilt her bow around for a clean shot.

“Of course it is! It has to be! I heard some men sayin' it were an old god, but that's bullshit ent it? You an' me, we know that elfy elf god stuff is a load of crock. So that means we got a demon right here and I am going to stick it full of arrows before it decides to wake up.”

Astlyr shot a 'help me' glance towards Cullen, but he seemed as uncertain of what to do as she was. “It might be another helpful spirit, like Cole,” the warrior pointed out, hopefully.

“I heard old baldly, Solas saying that Cole was the only one like that,” Sera shot back.

“Good spirits are rare,” Astlyr said, reaching tentatively out to try to take the bow, to no avail.

“Feel betrayed. How could she do this? Thought she was my friend, and that she knew better, but she's just as stupid as the rest.” Cole's hushed voice filled the silence for a moment.

“Tell 'im to stop doing that shite!” Sera whirled, aiming her bow at Cole, who blinked as he stared down the deadly shaft.

“Sera!” A new voice joined burst powerfully into the room. Cassandra strode in, followed by the guard who had obviously run to fetch her, even as Astlyr was being sent for. The woman disarmed Sera with two practiced motions, passing the bow and arrow to the guard. “Listen now,” Cassandra faced down the elf's defiant and enraged stare. “I understand that you are upset with the Inquisitor. She allowed this visitor to come into our keep. Our home. She may be endangering us all. But I know you, Sera. I have fought beside you, as you have beside Astlyr. In the end, Sera, you are going to have to decide if you trust her. We have constant guards watching this man, with mages and templars, as well as Cole. The second anything looks suspicious we will kill it. But I do not believe it is a demon. Do you trust my judgment, Sera? You have countless times on the field, why not here as well?”

“Because you're wrong,” Sera snapped, her eyes fierce. “You and I both know that ain't no elven god.” She turned and stared up into Astlyr's eyes with a deadly sharpness, but Astlyr's gaze in return was level. The eyes of one dealing with a dangerous horse. Calm, steady, and firm. Sera let her arms fall to her sides. She fumed, sticking out her jaw as she moved to march past Cas towards the door. “You tell me the second anythin' happens. I won't be kept out of the loop any more.”

“Fair enough,” the qunari nodded.

“An' you can steer clear of me,” Sera pulled another arrow from her quiver and pointed it at Cole, then let the arrow fall back into place.

“I shall be here,” the spirit boy said, still watching her calmly.

The guard timidly handed Sera back her bow as she stalked from the room. When the elf was gone Astlyr let her shoulders relax with a heavy sigh, running a hand through her long silver-white hair, which was loose instead of in its usual bun. “Thank you, Cas,” she said, wearily. She might have been embarrassed at her failure to talk the enraged elf down, but her admiration for her human friend overshadowed it for the moment.

“Not bad,” Cullen was grinning, a little like a cat.

“That was merely a stop-gap measure,” the scarred woman said, shooting Astlyr a tight look. “You will have to keep an eye on that girl. She may try something like that again.”

“That was a little exciting actually,” one of the healers admitted, looking down, shly.

“Will this happen often?” asked Myfanwy, passing the sword she had been holding back to the annoyed looking guard she had taken it from.

“I hope not,” Astlyr's shoulders slumped as she crossed the room to stare down at the figure of the young man, still motionless on the bed. His expression was restful, with no evidence of discomfort. She pursed her lips as she studied him, wishing he would just wake up so they could get this over with.

“It might,” Cullen spoke. “I have a feeling this is a microcosm of what will come. The people in SkyHold and the surrounding areas have seen enough demons to be more than justified in their concern.”

A few of the guards nodded knowingly and the mage gripped her staff grimly.

“Why did you lie?” Cole tilted his head towards Cassandra. “You told Sera that you didn't think it was a demon, but you lied.”

“I'm not sure what it is,” Cassandra admitted. “But I needed to calm her down, so I lied. Please don't tell her.”

Cole gave a wan little smile, “she hates me because I can open up her pain and see what she fears. She doesn't want me to help, or make it go away. I will help her by staying away.”

“Good,” Cassandra folded her arms and looked satisfied.

Astlyr groaned, “It seems like no matter what happens with our guest here, things only gets worse. Maybe I'm sorry I even picked up that damn bird.”

“No,” Cole's voice was firm as he stood up and met her eyes. “Helping is always the right choice, even when helping is hard. You help, Astlyr. You always try.”

“The lad's right,” admitted Cas. “You care...a lot more than might be expected from a qunari, but the people can see that. It's why they follow you.”

“Well at least I have something then, I suppose,” Astlyr looked down at her hand, where the mark was ever dormant. “Caring doesn't stop me from making bad choices.”

“This was not a bad choice,” Myfanwy spoke. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the hand of the man who had once been her brother. “My people have thought themselves abandoned for so long. Unloved by the gods we once worshiped, or worse, that those gods were dead. Now one may yet live, and we have a chance to help him. It is the greatest honor. If your Andraste appeared and asked for your help, wouldn't you do anything to aid her?”

“She's not my-” Astlyr began.

“Yes.” Cullen spoke without hesitation. His eyes were steely.

Astlyr sighed again, hand on the back of her neck, “alright then. I made the decision I made, for good or ill. For now let us all get some sleep. You guards may ask for your replacements to come early. You've had a bit of an adventure tonight.”

“Thank you ma'am,” the guards said, smiling to one another.

She turned to Cassandra, feeling a cold sensation in her chest. Cas was a good and strong leader, something that Astlyr was not certain she could ever be. She nodded to the woman. “Thank you again.”

“I am certain you would have resolved it, but I saw the opportunity to assist you, so I did,” she glanced towards Cole with a half smile, “and the boy seems to think that helping is always the right answer.”

“So he does,” Astlyr felt a smile pull her own lips. “Cullen, I'll walk you back to your room.”

He gave her a cheeky grin, “shouldn't I be walking you, my lady?”

She shook her head, chuckling, “You know I am about as far from being a lady as they get. Come with us, Cas?”

“I'll stay and oversee the guard change,” Cassandra answered.

“Alright,” Astlyr dipped her head again as she and Cullen walked together from the infirmary.

When they were well out of earshot in the darkened keep Cullen spoke again, “I hope you were not upset with the guards for seeking Cassandra as well as you to help.”

Astlyr shook her head, glancing down at the man, “I really can't be. The guards made the right decision to bring her. I don't know if I would have talked her down.”

“You would have,” Cullen reassured her. “Cas just has more experience to get the job done quicker.”

“You're right, of course,”Astlyr said, hesitating in front of Cullen's door. “You're alright?” she gestured towards his injured arm.

He nodded, “Yes. Thank you. All this excitement has effectively taken my mind off it.”

“You're welcome,” Astlyr snarked. “Good sleep, my friend.”

“Good sleep to you, friend,” Cullen reached up and gave her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, “you did fine.”

She nodded dumbly, lips tight, as he closed his door behind him. Then, feeling low, she trudged across to her own quarters. She threw aside her fur bedclothes, fell onto her mattress and tumbled into sleep almost at once.

~~~~~

“The Fade. How original,” she muttered, folding her arms and peering around at her green surroundings. “Are there a wolf and a dragon here tonight?”

This time she heard no distant roar of a winged beast. The silence mocked her. She bit back frustration. She hated this place where nothing made sense. She shot a look at her hand. The mark was quiet,without the hint of life. She sighed and flopped down on a rock, which was covered in a slithery sort of moss. She didn't care. She would sit here until she woke and that would be the end of it.

Then she felt something cold on her hand, where it rested in the rock. She looked down and jumped. The small, black wolf had come up silently as death and now touched her with his wet nose. Then he looked up at her and his bushy tail gave a friendly wag. In that moment he looked more like the friendly old hound she had had growing up, rather than a deadly predator. He blinked his blue eyes as though begging for a treat.

“Are you, Fen'Heral?” Astlyr asked. This time she didn't stop herself. She petted his head, right between his velvety, upright ears. The wolf wagged his tail again. “I'll take that as a yes,” Astlyr decided as she stroked his fur. She had been right in her guess before. He was indeed extremely soft. “You're asleep in my world, right?”

The wolf tilted his head and made a high whimper. Then, with no ceremony, he plopped down to lay across her feet. She couldn't help but laugh aloud. Her laugh sounded strange in the Fade. Otherworldly, hardly her own. She stopped, but could not hide her continued amusement at the beast as he looked up at her. “Did you ever meet a hound named Dash?” she asked. “I think the two of you would have gotten along well.” Then she frowned, “Do you plan to wake up soon?” The wolf whimpered again, nuzzling her calf with a wet nose. “No? You're causing me no small amount of trouble out there, pup,” she said, wondering briefly if it was a smite-able offense to refer to the Dread Wolf as 'pup'. “I just wish I knew how to wake you up. It just so happens that the one fellow who might have been able and willing to help wandered off without so much as a goodbye.” She felt a stab of sadness and anger as she thought of Solas' leaving.

The wolf butted her hand with his head. She had stopped petting as her thoughts had strayed. “Oh, I'm sorry,” she smirked as the tip of the black tail thup thupped. “No,” she said, as though carrying on a conversation with the beast, “Myfanwy doesn’t know. I mean, if she did you would think she would have suggested it already. Wait,” Astlyr snapped her fingers, and the wolf's ears pricked up and her ooked at her intensely. For a moment she was captured in the look. The feeling that she had been scrutinized that way before by someone else.

“You are not what I expected.” a voice echoed distantly. She wasn't certain if she heard it, or thought it. She shook her head, the wisp of memory escaping her.

“I think I know someone who can help us,” she told the wolf.

Fen'Heral wagged his tail two good beats and nuzzled her knee. She patted his ribby side, the way she had used to for Dash. The wolf, god or no, seemed to enjoy this as well. Briefly she contemplated giving him a belly rub, but decided against it. “As soon as I wake up, I'll talk to my contact. I feel certain that she'll know what to do with you and we'll soon have you awake.”

Thup thup when his tail.

~~~~

“I was wondering when you would come to me with this issue,” the dark haired woman smiled a little wolfishly herself.

“I'm sorry, Morrigan,” Asatlyr admitted, “I forget sometimes about the whole, ancient elven knowledge thing.”

“One would believe it difficult to forget, considering I was able to transform into a dragon to aid your final fight against Coryphious,” the yellow eyed mage pointed out as she followed Astlyr towards the infirmary, tall darkwood staff in hand.

“That was pretty unforgettable,” Astlyr agreed as she held open the door for Morrigan to enter.

The guards inside snapped to attention at their Inquisitor's entrance. She motioned for them to relax, “as you were, gentlemen,” she reassured them.

“So this is him? The one claiming to be an ancient elven god? A bit scrawny,” the slender woman eyed the young man on the bed.

“Who is this?” Myfanwy stood up from where she had been sitting at the foot of the bed.

“The dragon lady,” Cole strolled over, watching Morrigan with a mixture of interest and mistrust on his features.

“The who?” Myfanway folded her arms and looked uneasy as Morrigan leaned over her charge.

“Yes...hmmm,” Morrigan stood back, hand over her lips as she seemed to consider.

Astlyr kept quiet, watching. Cole moved to stand beside her. “Why did you call her?” he asked.

“She has the knowledge of the elders. She stepped into the Well of Sorrows and gained a good deal of elven knowledge. She may be able to help us waken our friend here from his slumber.”

“If this is indeed a god,” Morrigan began, waving an elegant hand towards the bed, “then he is likely sleeping to regain his strength.”

“Of course he is,” Myfanwy said, as though this assertion was becoming a reflex.

“How long do they normally sleep?” Astlyr questioned.

“My dear, if it is a god, there is nothing normal about him. He could awaken today, or a year from now.” The mage replied. She coiled a strand of magic around her fingers, then sent it slithering over the still figure. Myfanwy did not look pleased with this scrutiny, but she said nothing. “However, his body will likely die of dehydration before that.”

“We have been attempting to get him to drink,” a healer stepped forward. “We have been able to get some water and a little broth down him, but lady Morrigan is correct. We cannot get enough into him for him to live in this state for more than a month.”

“Why did no one tell me this?” Astlyr put her fists on her hips.

The healer looked cowed, “we wanted to see if he would waken before we panicked. He's not in danger yet.”

Astlyr sighed and rubbed her temples. “Alright, so we need to wake him. Do you know of anything that can do that?”

“Perhaps,” Morrigan said in her soft purr of a voice. “I believe I have read of something not long ago in one of the elvhen tomes I have been studying. An item that can give strength to a slumbering god, enabling them to waken much sooner than they might have.”

“You read?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow, “I thought your head was chock full of elven knowledge now.”

“It doesn't work that way, my dear Inquisitor,” Morrigan looked skyward as though Astlyr was slow. “I do not have the memories of generations of elves swimming around up here,” she gestured to her forehead. “I am, however, able to read elvhen text that has long since lost meaning for The People. This is where I read of the item you must seek.”

“Do we know where it is?” Astlyr asked. She felt energized already, barely keeping herself from bouncing on the balls of her feet. A good quest was just what she needed to get her mind off of her Skyhold failings.

“I know where it was. There is no saying if it is there still.” Morrigan explained, eying the qunari with a little mirth in her eyes.

“Come, to the map room. Show me,” Astlyr's green eyes were alight and her spirit already miles ahead of her feet.

“I want to go,” Cole spoke up, turning to follow them.

“To the map room?” Astlyr turned, tilting her head.

“No. On the quest,” the spirit clarified.

“Shouldn't you stay here. To sense him if he wakens?” Astlyr turned to face her friend.

“Must we always argue with the boy?” Morrigan sounded annoyed. “Merely order him to stay here and be done with it.”

Astlyr ignored the mage, studying Cole. “I want to go with you,” Cole reiterated, firmly. “I cannot read his pain,” he gestured to the unconscious elf. “There is still a veil over his mind. If he wakes, the mages and guards will be able to tell well enough if he will harm them.”

“You're sure?” Astlyr questioned. Truthfully she would be glad of Cole's company. He was practically her shadow since she had helped him free the spirit side of himself. He dutifully wore the amulet she and Solas had acquired for him to keep him from being controlled by those who might mean him ill. She suspected he did not want to be left out of the adventures any more than she did, but she also knew him to be responsible by nature. He would not leave if he thought his presence truly necessary.

Cole nodded in answer to her question, and his expression was firm. Morrigan heaved a dramatic sigh, but said nothing more. “Alright,” Astlyr nodded. “You can come with us. While Morrigan and I are in the war room would you go speak to Cassandra, Iron Bull, Dorian and Varric. I am certain they will be eager to join us as well.”

“Of course,” Cole vanished before Astlyr could remind him not to startle anyone.

~~~~

A few hours later found the group packing their horses and chattering amiably. Cullen stood with them looking a bit disappointed. “I wish I could go with you,” he admitted when Cole looked ready to launch in to an explanation for the man's sad expression.

“Someone needs to keep Skyhold in one piece,” Varric walked past, carrying several packs of food.

“Don't worry, Cullen,” Astlyr smiled reassuringly. “Give your arm time to heal and you can join us on our next mission. And you know there will be a next one. We are forever running adventurous errands.”

“You'd think we might have a few more people to do this sort of thing,” Dorian put in as he stuffed an extra fur-lined cloak into one of his already overflowing saddlebags.

“No body does it like us,” Iron Bull chuckled. His horse was an impressive animal indeed. Legs the size of small tree trunk and hooves as big as dinner plates. It dwarfed even Astlyr's intimidating mount, but it was a docile as a butterfly. Bull has once explained to Astlyr how he had tried to train the horse for war, but it would not strike out at a person, no matter what he did. Finally he gave up. He certainly couldn't afford to replace a beast of that size on a mercenary’s wage.

“I'll keep an eye on our Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, giving Cullen's wounded arm a 'friendly' pat. He grimaced, but managed to turn it into a long suffering smile.

“And if that god-thing wakes up and turns out to be a demon...” Astlyr began.

“Kill it immediately. I know the drill,” Cullen gave her a curt nod, even though this was the third time she had mentioned it.

Cassandra patted the neck of her mount. A beautiful creature with a coat the color of fire, and a disposition in battle to match. “Don't let Sera murder him before you know one way or another.”

“Right,” Cullen agreed.

Astlyr felt a bit guilty for not asking the elf to accompany them, but she knew well enough how Sera would feel about this mission. Seeking out something elven and magical? Definitely not her idea of a worthwhile endeavor. “Are we ready?” she asked her people, swinging herself up into the saddle.

“We are,” Cas affirmed, checking over their company with a practiced eye.

“Try not to bring home any more god-things,” Cullen called as the group began to make their way out of the keep and into the mountains beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera greatly disapproves!
> 
> I know you are all probably jumping out of your skin with excitement for Fen'Heral to wake up, but trust me, it'll be worth the wait :) At least I hope so haha! Thanks for reading, and as always feel free to comment with thoughts/ any glaring errors you might notice!
> 
> Next chapter: 1/8/15!


	5. Cold Comfort

Part 5  
Cold Comfort

“This. Is. The worst.” Dorian's complaints cut through the biting wind to reach Astlyr's ears. Her ears which prickled with the icy grip of cold. Even the two Qunari were shivering as they encouraged their mounts onward through the blizzard. Astlyr bit back an angry retort. There was no need to scold her friend. He was right. With winter already threatening more southern climes the frigid temperature of Emprise Du Lion had reached deadly levels. Though the group had packed well with many warm furs, the wind still managed to find every place where Astlyr's attire was thinnest. Cole, of course, was unbothered by the weather, but was concerned for his friends. He had gone from horse to horse passing out more warm furs and encouraging words.

These words did little to help Dorian, who suffered the most vocally of the bunch. Astlyr might have had stern words with him about affecting everyone’s morale, but she couldn't get her chattering teeth to let her get a word in edgewise. Instead she tightened her grip on Smoke's reins, encouraging the horse to trudge onward. Once they achieved the peak she hoped there would be a few places to shelter for the fast approaching night.

“I don't remember it being this bad the last time we were here,” Varric managed between lips cracked with cold.

“It was not,” Cassandra assured him, her eyes squinted to scan the terrain ahead.

“At least I don't see any red Templars roaming about this time,” Iron Bull pointed out, his words muffled by the large scarf Cole had found for him.

“They're buried under all this damn snow,” Dorian griped. “Do you have any idea what this air is doing to my complexion?”

Astlyr stifled a smile. She knew her friend was more bluster than actual anger. She was getting worried, however. Visibility was waning faster than she might have expected and she could feel her horse's strength flagging. She knew Varric's mount, though it was a stocky mountain horse, was struggling in the thick drifts which seemed to move like shifting sands. Astlyr spotted something, “make for that stand of trees,” she pointed towards a close huddled group of conifers to the west.

The wind whipped her voice from her throat, but the message was passed back through her little band and they surged doggedly towards the place she had indicated. Cole teleported ahead to scout the area. He appeared on his horse's waiting back beside Astlyr. “Several rabbits have set up a home in those trees, so there are droppings, but it is sheltered.”

“Grand. Rabbit droppings,” Dorian muttered, riding closer to hear the young spirit's report. “Still, better warm droppings that cold winds, eh?” he shot Astlyr a cheeky smile.

The tough inquisitor could not help but chuckle as she put her head down and clung grimly to the saddle, occasionally looking up, with eyes streaming from cold, to ensure they were headed in the correct direction.

After what seemed an age they achieved the trees. Cole had not been wrong about the rabbits. Several fled under the lowest pine branches as the riders entered their little copse. Astlyr felt a great relief wash over her as the wind abated. She dismounted, as did her comrades, and they set about slowly making camp. “Be careful of the fire,” Cassandra warned, wisely as Dorian raised his hands over the pile of kindling Varric had hastily gathered. “We have to find a spot where it will not catch on the trees or we will burn our shelter to the ground, and us with it.”

Iron Bull picked up the entire pile of sticks and wood, setting it in the middle of tree gap. It was slightly less sheltered, but still better than it had been on their ride. Soon the mage had the fire blazing, as the others gathered what wood they could find. Dorian kept a small flame alight in his hands, warming them.

Finally the company settled as best they could. Tents were impossible with no good ground to drive the stakes into, so instead the leathers were draped over the surrounding trees to create more shelter. Then they huddled together, watching the flames dance and sharing the food they had brought. Varric heated water and dropped a few pine needles in to make a weak tea. All drank, gratefully.

“It is official,” Dorian said, clasping both hands around his tin cup and looking up with redrimmed, baleful eyes, “This is the coldest I have ever been.”

“My nose is dripping and my fingers and toes are prickled with a thousand needles. Biting, battering, blasting cold eating through me,” Cole supplied.

Dorian gave the boy a wan smile, “yes, thank you.” The tip of the man's nose had gone a cold crimson.

Wonderful, Astlyr thought with a heaviness in her chest, now I'm going to get all my people sick. She stood, pulling one of the furs from her shoulders and draping it over Dorian's. She sat down in the snow beside him and put her arm around him. He snuggled willingly against her. Iron Bull shot the mage a mock warning glance. “You're sure it's men you fancy?”

“Never fear,” Dorian said with a cough, “were I not freezing to death as we speak I would never voluntarily be this close to breasts.”

“I think I've been this cold before,” Cassandra spoke up, her dark eyes focusing on the dancing flames. “I was fifteen. My uncle took my brother and I into the mountains. He would have only taken Antony but my brother begged that I could come. There was supposed to be an adolescent frost dragon up there. If we found it I was instructed to hide while the my uncle and brother killed it.”

Astlyr stifled a chuckle at the thought of Cassandra letting the men kill a dragon without her.

“We didn't even see the damned thing,” Cas chuckled, “but I got frostbite on these two fingers,” she held up her hand to illustrate, “and poor Antony caught such a bad cold he lost his voice completely. He couldn't talk back to me for days. I loved it.”

“I've been this cold,” Varric piped up. “I was a lot younger too. My brother, Bartrand, and I were on a smuggling run, not too far from here as I recall. This was before we found homes in Kirkwall. We did manage to finish the run, but we almost didn't make it. Snow drifts were over my head. Why, I lost sight of my brother once. Only found him again because he was wearing one of those absurd helmets with the horns on it. Had to pull him out of the drift by his beard.”

“You miss your brother,” Cole strolled over. Completely unbothered by the harsh windchill. The spirit boy had been attempting to befriend a rabbit using a piece of bread.

Varric hung his head slightly, “yeah, Kid. Sometimes I do. He wasn't a bad person. Not for most of his life.”

“Friends, family, everyone dies. Cannot trust people. Cannot love people because they will only go and leave me alone and empty. A loneliness that hangs on me like a weight around my neck. Slowly dragging me down to dust and desolation.” Cole spoke quietly and rapidly.

Varric said nothing, but looked at his hands. Cassandra moved to him and put her own arm around his shoulders, as Astlyr had done for Dorian. The dwarf looked momentarily alarmed, as though certain she was trying to get him in a headlock, but then he relaxed, resting his head against the tough woman's shoulder.

“Oh gods, are we sharing now?” Iron Bull asked, with a playfulness in his tone. “The chargers and I have been cold like this loads of times. We got over it. And you can skip me with the touchy feely, what's-my-pain crap, kiddo,” he gave Cole a warning look. “Today I think I'll just keep that to myself where it belongs.”

Cole flashed Iron Bull a quick glance and shrugged his narrow shoulders, then put his head down and went back to crouching under the tree, seeking furry friends.

Everyone looked at Astlyr. Clearly it was her turn. She thought for a moment. “There was a year our roof fell in and my mother and father had to spend the day repairing it,” she said, considering. “I don't think that was the coldest I have been though.”

“How old were you?” asked Varric, pulling out of Cassandra's hug with an embarrassed look.

“Four, maybe. I don't remember much of it, except that I thought it was an exciting adventure to have to cook lunch out in the snow.”

“The thought of three year old Astlyr is the most adorable thing I can picture,” Iron Bull chuckled, playfully reaching over and tugging one of her horns.

“I'm told I was pretty cute,” Astlyr admitted as her companions laughed. “You know, I think the coldest I have been was after Haven,” she said reflectively after a pause, fixing her eyes on the dancing flames. Cole came back with an armload of twigs to add and plopped down, cross legged, to hear. Astlyr noticed that he had placed a sprig of pine into the band of his hat. “After I faced Coryphius for the first time and I managed to get that avalanche to fall on him. I was knocked down into some sort of cellar or cave. That was freezing enough in itself, and I am pretty sure I had a cracked rib or two, plus the concussion.”

“They found you in the snow,” said Cole, “you would have died.”

“Cheerful as ever,” Dorian muttered, sitting up a bit, though not quite willing to give up the warmth of his friend's arm.

“That was cold,” Astlyr finished and everyone was silent for a long moment.

“Solas sat with you,” Cole said, not looking up. “He didn't want to leave your side. I saw him there because I was worried for you as well, though I did not know you well then,” the spirit boy explained.

“He was with me?” Astlyr asked.

“Yes. He only moved when forced to by hunger or the need to get away from the arguing.”

“Our arguing,” Cassandra admitted, looking ashamed. “In our defense the situation was pretty bad.”

“I wonder if he walked with me in dreams,” Astlyr pondered. “He said he had done before, when I stumbled from the Fade and wouldn't wake for days.”

“Solas liked you,” Cole said. “You made his pain less. You made him calm.”

“Really?” she tilted her head to look towards the boy.

“Yes. Solas was very sad, but when he was with you, you made him less so. You were strong for him when he was tired of being strong. You do the same for Dorian, and Iron Bull...and me,” he gave her a weak smile which was about as big as his expressions of happiness got.

Astlyr felt her cheeks go hot at this revelation. “Astlyr can have the job of 'the strongest'” Dorian said, mirth prickling in his voice, “as long as I keep my title of 'the most handsome.'”

The group fell back into chatter and lighter tales. It was a challenge to keep the fire going, as they were fast running out of fallen sticks and branches, but they managed. Dorian supplemented with his own, magical flame, when it was requested. Though all had seen better nights, but the end they could agree that this one was far from the worst.

~~~~~

Bears. Why was it always bears? Astlyr dodged an incoming claw and slashed with her sword, then struck the beast across the face with her shield. Apparently the bears had had the same idea as Astlyr and her friends, to shelter in he trees. They had been woken by the alarm of Iron Bull, who was on dawn watch, and the sound of their horses whinnying in fear.

Smoke and Bull's horse could hold their own against the beasts, and Cassandra's mare with kicking and biting wildly when the friends charged to the rescue. Magic blasted past Astlyr's head as Dorian picked his targets with skill. Iron Bull slammed into one of the largest bears with his shoulder, knocking the mass of fur and muscle to earth with a shower of snow. He smashed his maul downward, not doubt crushing the bear's thick skull.

Cole darted in and out, causing deadly bleeding wounds to the attacking animals. Astlyr and Cas came together, forming a two woman shield wall, pushing back against the grasping claws and teeth. Finally the bears all lay dead, their blood steaming in the snow. “Well,” Dorian panted, “I suppose that is one way to get the blood going in the morning.”

“I'm not cold any more,” Iron Bull swung his maul to fall into the holder he wore strapped his his back.

Astlyr looked to the horses. A few cuts and scratches marred their sides, but nothing serious.

“Do bears just smell you and come running?” Varric huffed, slinging Bianca back over his shoulder.

“I must have smeared myself in ham grease again last night,” Astlyr joked, sheathing her own sword. She gave herself a quick once over. Though she had not yet put on her armor, the layers of furs she was wearing had protected her from the worst of the bites and scratches. She clicked her tongue with annoyance as she saw that her favorite winter cloak had a long tear.

“Well, we're up,” Dorian said, moving back to the camp to take the tent leathers down from the trees, “where is it we're going again?”

Astlyr pulled the map from a pack on Smoke's saddle. The big horse swung his head around for his usual pat on the nose, which she absently gave him as she studied the parchment. “An old elven holy place of some kind.”

“Of course,” Varric grumbled, going to help Dorian pick up the camp.

“Well, we are looking for an elven artifact,” Astlyr said, squinting at the map. Cas stopped and peered around her shoulder. Astlyr moved so the woman could see.

“I think that pass should still be open,” Cassandra pointed. “Even after the blizzard last night.”

“Alright, we'll give it a try,” Astlyr agreed, folding the map.

With the camp packed the group made their way. The pass which Cassandra had chosen was indeed negotiable though the snow was thick. The horses slipped and struggled, but the way was made. Cole popped ahead on several occasions to check for snags and icy patches.

Finally, cold an bedraggled, and so wearied that even Dorian had ceased complaining, they stood before a cave entrance. Astlyr checked the map. “This seems too obvious.” she gave the cave mouth a scrutinizing once over. “Morrigan mentioned that there might be wards and other protections. The artifact we're looking for, if it is even still here, is supposed to be protected.”

“Joy,” Dorian stepped forward, magic glowing and coiling around his hands. He sent the magic surging and seeking. A few symbols glowed on the walls a short distance in. He grunted. “Simple wards. They probably get more complicated further in. We'll have to be cautious.” He curled his hand into a fist and with a jerking motion the glowing wards vanished with a faint popping sound.

“Aren't we always?” Varric smirked, settling Bianca into place in his hands. He peered into the darkness. “Well....it isn't the deep roads I suppose.”

“Count your blessings,” Astlyr agreed with a smirk. She and her fellows took a moment to pull on armor. It was freezing, but worth the trouble after that arrow incident, Astlyr thought as she buckled her plate mail into place with practiced skill. “Alright, kids, formation time. Cole, stay back here with us. We don't need you getting ahead and hitting a ward you aren't ready for. Stay just behind Cas, Bull and I. Dorian, behind and to our right. Keep your magic going as best you can, checking for traps.”

“Alright,” the mage nodded. “Though I'll burn through mana I could be using to for attacking spells if there are undead or the like.”

“Noted. We can handle a few undead,” she nodded towards Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Varric. She indicated a spot for the dwarf, “behind us and to the left.”

“Right,” Varric nodded, taking his place.

“Are we ready?” Astlyr asked.

“As we'll ever be,” Varric answered with a grim smile.

~~~~

The going was slow. Even underground it was cold, and they shivered as they went. The way was dark as well. They had brought torches, which Dorian lit, but the light from the flames did not seem able to reach all the shadowed recesses of the tunnels as they traversed. Three times they had to stop so that Dorian could take down a barrier spell or ward that threatened their way. The cave itself seemed natural, not man-made, but there were sconces visible in some of the walls where ling ago torches had once been set.

It was clear, however, that no one had tread this path in a long time. Muck and dirt on the cave floor was deep and undisturbed by footfalls. Astlyr and Bull had the most difficulty negotiating the low, craggy ceiling. Once Bull caught his horns on a narrow place and Astlyr had to help him get free, much to the amusement of the others.

Perhaps three hours of traveling found the friends resting for a moment, leaning against the walls. “How are you holding up?” Astlyr questioned Dorian. He had dark circles forming under his eyes and his nose seemed to be constantly running.

“I'm getting low on mana,” he admitted, pulling a blue potion free from his belt and downing it. He held up a hand and magic flickered around it. He sighed. “Keeping up a constant search for traps is tiring, I will admit.”

“You're doing well,” Cassandra reassured him. “I have seen lesser mages collapse when put to such a challenge.”

“Well,” Dorian straightened slightly, “I am exceedingly well bred to be the very best,” he cut a regal posture, which was somewhat undermined by the layers of furs he wore.

“How far do you suppose this cave goes?” Astlyr wondered aloud. “We haven't come across any side paths that go more than a few feet.”

“I don't know,” Varric squinted into the gloom. “Maybe the artifact isn't even here any more.”

“Cole, do you sense any pain memories?” Astlyr turned to the boy, who was, of course, the only one not looking weary. Cole handed a water skin to Iron Bull as he answered. “No. This place is quiet. All I hear is us.”

“One would think if there is an ancient elven artifact in here that there might be some elven memories floating around,” Cassandra pointed out.

“Maybe they're all happy memories,” Iron Bull suggested, taking a swig on the water and passing it across to Varric.

“Yes, sure. Because happiness just follows us around,” the dwarf said sarcastically as he had a drink and sent the water skin on.

“Well, we had best keep moving. I'm curious to see the back of this cave system if nothing else. These wards and barriers were put here by someone.” Astlyr stood, glancing around at each face. None of her friends flagged, each rising and getting back into formation without complaint. She felt her heart tug. She could not ask for truer followers, and she hoped she could be worthy of them.

The group trudged on as time dragged, though Astlyr was uncertain how long they had walked. Her feet were beginning to blister, which was usually a good sign of the passage of hours. She was about to call for another rest when Dorian got her attention. “Strong wards up ahead,” the mage said, edging forward carefully.

“I looks like the tunnel opens up,” Cassandra squinted into the gloom, holding up her torch.

As the party drew cautiously forward they could all make out a cavern before them. It was not a large place, but did not have the same, naturally formed quality as the rest of the tunnels. The walls looked carved, the floor smoothed from its natural sate, though some stalagmites were forming as water dripped from the ceiling. In the center of the dark room Astlyr could just make out what appeared to be a table or alter made of stone. Upon it rested a nondescript shape. “Is that what we're looking for?” she asked, peering through the dim light and reaching shadows.

“It may be,” Dorian said, stopping them all with his arm, “but there are powerful wards in this entry way. Watch.” He searched around until he found a loose rock. This he tossed into the room. As soon as the rock passed through the arched doorway to the cave bright magic glowed all along the stone and a blast of magical flame burst into being, emanating from two runes near the top corners of the doorway. Where the twin jets of fire met in the middle they exploded spectacularly with roiling flames. The group stepped back as one. Astlyr felt the heat singe her cloak and eyebrows.

“Can you take those down?” Astlyr asked, scanning the symbols that lined the walls as they faded back to stillness.

Dorian coiled magic around himself, then sent it out, snaking free to slither experimentally out to the wards. His face took on a look of intense effort and concentration. After a moment he exhaled wearily and slumped back against the wall. His voice was breathless as he gave his report, “These wards are ancient, and are designed to gain power the more time that passes. A mage more skilled than I placed these, as much as it pains me to admit it.”

Astlyr put a hand on his hunched shoulder. “Alright, you did well. Take a moment to catch your breath. We'll figure this out.”

Dorian sat down on a protruding stone, looking glum and frustrated.

“So what now?” Varric asked, peering into the room at the lump on the stone slab, which were the only obvious furnishings.

“Dorian, were there wards inside the room, or just in the doorway?” Astlyr asked, turning to her mage friend.

“I only detected them in the doorway,” Dorian answered, meeting her gaze with a baleful look.

“I know what you're thinking,” Cole appeared at Astlyr's elbow, his expression eager. “I can help.”

“Now, Cole, just wait,” Astlyr said, turning to the boy. “There could still be traps inside. You need to be very careful!”

“What are you thinking?” Iron Bull asked.

“Cole can teleport in, right past the magical wards,” Astlyr explained, “and grab that little thing on the alter. Then he can blink right back.”

“It might work,” Cassandra said, but her voice was uneasy, “though we have no idea what else might be waiting in there. If they put a ward this strong over the door, what could they have done to the inside?”

“Or maybe they knew their door block would be good enough to stop just about anyone,” Varric pointed out. He unslung Bianca from his back. “Here's let's try this.” He fired a bolt into the room. The fire wards reacted for a moment as the bolt passed, then went still. The bolt clattered against the stone table and bounced off, hitting the floor. Everything was perfectly still as the group leaned forward, tensely watching. Nothing stirred.

“I can do it,” said Cole, his wan face bright, “I can go get it and come right back. Don't worry.”

“I worry,” Cassandra mumbled, her dark eyes sharp with suspicion. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

“It's all we have at the moment,” Astlyr sighed, her shoulders slumping. “We'll table that for now. Keep thinking, everyone.”

“I can do it,” Cole said again, hands balling into determined fists at his sides he vanished.

“Cole, NO!” Astlyr shouted, grabbing at the air where the boy had been only seconds before. The group turned to look into the room. He was standing before the altar, seemingly unharmed. “I'm inside,” he called back to them, holding his body very still. “I found an idol. A little frog, I think. Should I bring it?”

“As long as he is already out there, he may as well bring it back,” Astlyr assented as everyone looked uncertainly to her.

“I'll bring it back, then,” said Cole. He reached out and took hold of the idol. There was a distant thunk and clank from somewhere in the depths of stone around them. Then a metallic sliding sound and Cole cried out.

“COLE!” Astlyr yelled, trying to see what had happened. She held out her torch as far as she dared. The boy was still standing, but stiffly, in the attitude of one reaching for something.

“Astlyr,” Cole whimpered, “I can't move.”

“Shit! Cole, we're coming!” Astlyr shouted. “Cas, with me! Dorian, I want you to blast us with an ice spell while we do this. Bull, you get Cole out.” Iron Bull nodded, taking up a position behind the two women. Dorian stood, looking baffled for a moment, but his face cleared as Astlyr continued. “Alright Cas, the fire seemed to come from those wards near the ceiling. We have to prevent the blasts from meeting in the middle.” the qunari woman made certain the straps of her shield were snug, and she gave a nod to her human counterpart.

“Ready,” Cassandra's jaw was set, her eyes fearless.

“Go!” Astlyr stepped into the doorway, Cassandra doing the same at her side. The fire roared down onto them. It pushed her back slightly as she held her shield up against it. The heat was almost unbearable as it lapped around her shield and clawed at her body. But she could feel the creeping ice coiling around her as Dorian hit both women with his best cold magic. The ice melted almost at once, but he kept showering it onto them.

“Go, Bull!” Dorian said, his voice very strained.

Iron Bull charged in between Astlyr and Cassandra. Flames lapped at him, but not enough to stop the juggernaut as he surged towards the still form of Cole. As he moved, spikes shot up from the floor, grazing his legs and feet. Astlyr heard one ping off of the metal cuff he wore around one ankle. Bull little noticed as more spike slashed at him, almost impaling his foot.

“Hurry!” Cassandra pleaded, her whole body braced behind her shield, the ice around her body struggling valiantly against the flames.

Bull hesitated as he took in Cole's situation, then he lifted the boy straight upwards. Cole gave a cry of pain at the motion. Please, Maker, or old gods, or whoever, let him be alright! Astlyr thought desperately as she pushed back against the mage-fire that bit at her. She could feel her shield heating almost beyond her ability to bear. She chomped down on her lip until she knew it was bleeding. Iron Bull charged past the women, Cole cradled in his arms. Astlyr gratefully stepped back and the flames died. She unstrapped her shield with two quick motions, shaking the steaming metal from herself.

Dorian slumped back, gasping for breath. Bull knelt, resting Cole's head against his legs. “Those spikes you saw,” Bull explained hurriedly as the friends gathered around the fallen boy, “As soon as Cole touched the idol one came up through his hand, and another got his leg.”

Astlyr glanced down. There was a neat hole through the bottom of the spirit boy's calf, and another where the spike had exited near the bone. “We need to stop the bleeding,” Varric knelt, grabbing bandages from his pack.

Astlyr pulled her charred sleeve and a large chunk came away. She grabbed Cole's injured hand, squeezing it with the cloth to put pressure on the puncture, which leaked dark red. Cole whimpered. “It's alright,” Astlyr soothed, meeting his smokey eyes. “It's alright, we've got you.”

“I know,” Cole spoke haltingly as he panted for air, “I know, Astlyr. You're helping me. When you help things are alright. It just h-hurts.”

“I know, sweet heart,” Astlyr stroked Cole's hair back with her free hand. Cole gasped as Varric firmly pressed bandages to his punctured leg. “Easy,” Astlyr soothed.

“You're burned,” Cole reached with his uninjured hand towards a red mark on Astlyr's neck.

“No, no, Cole,” she almost smiled. “We're taking care of you now. Be still.”

Cole settled at her words, seemingly concentrating on making it easy for his friends to help him. Aside from rapid breathing and the occasional small sound of pain, he made no complaint. Astlyr kept her hand resting lightly his forehead as her friends worked, tightly bandaging both hand and leg. Dorian rallied and joined them, pouring what little healing magic he possessed into the mix.

“I got it,” when Cole spoke again his voice was quieter.

“What?” Astlyr leaned down.

“The idol. I got it.” Cole fished into his belt pouch with his uninjured hand and pulled a small object free. It was about as big as Astlyr's fist, made of green stone and shaped like a frog with its mouth open, froggy head tilted back as though about to strike its tongue out at a fly.

She smiled, feeling her lip tremble slightly, “Oh Cole, you did so well,” she said.

He grinned thinly up at her. “I helped.”

“You did,” she rubbed his cheek with her thumb.

“We need to get him back to Skyhold,” Varric said, concern on his weathered features.

Astlyr felt Dorian tilt her chin to see the burn on her neck. He sent a little ice magic to sooth it, but he shook his head. “Both you and Cas could use some attention as well. Bull?”

“A few cuts, nothing serious,” the big qunari said. He had been sitting still as a statue with Cole leaned against him, as though he feared if he moved the boy would shatter.

“We've got what we came for,” Cassandra stood with a stiff groan, picking up her own shield, which she too had tossed aside. The front was slightly deformed by the blast of heat it had withstood. “At least I hope so. We should head back.”

Astlyr nodded, trying to clear the cobwebs from her mind. “Give him to me,” she held out her arms. Bull helped get Cole into them. The boy made a small sound of pain, but cooperated as best he could. His good hand gripped Astlyr's armor tightly.

“Astlyr,” Cole mumbled to her, “I can feel your worry for me. I will be alright. The bleeding has stopped, and you all are taking good care of me. Do not worry.”

Astlyr smiled down at him as she began to walk, Iron Bull carrying her shield for her. “I would stop if I could, Cole. Sometimes we simply have to worry. It's alright. Once we get you back to the Skyhold healers, then maybe I'll stop. Until then, try not to think about it.”

She felt Cole rest his head against her shoulder and she carried him as gently as she could. Once outside the horses were summoned and she put Cole on Smoke ahead of herself, her arms wrapped around him in case he should he pass out, so he would not fall. Only one hand guided the reins, as Cassandra took the lead and Smoke willingly followed. Astlyr tucked her cloak in around them, though she knew Cole did not feel the bright cold of the day.

“Astlyr,” Cole spoke again, his voice hoarse.

“What is it, Cole?” she tilted her head down to hear him better.

“I have never felt anything like that before.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Bull carried me back to to the group I felt everyone's worry...for me. I have felt so much of people's concern and pain, but never so much concentrated on me before. I...I liked the feeling.”

She gave him a careful squeeze. “We're all your friends now, Cole. You'll be getting that feeling from us a lot more.”

Though she could not see his face, she could tell he was pleased as he rested against her. Astlyr heaved a weary sigh. This mission had not gone as she had hoped. She needed to stop getting her people injured. She glanced down at the pack on her hip where the frog idol was hidden. Dorian had given it a magical once-over to ensure it was not cursed, and he found nothing. Still, Astlyr was not certain she liked the way the jade eyes seemed to stare. She hoped that Morrigan would have some answers once they reached home. Home. Skyhold. It had been a long time since she had considered a place to be her home. After she had left her family's house in the Free Marches she had wandered, worked as a mercenary, searched for meaning. Perhaps she had found that meaning in Skyhold. How long it would last, she tried not to think about, for she had learned that nothing in her life was permanent.

The horses trudged onward through the deep snow as the winter sun showed itself to warm the weary backs of the adventurers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, probably should have warned you...I like to beat the crap out of characters. Mwahaha. Poor Cole!
> 
> As always feel free to comment with thoughts and any glaring errors you might notice.
> 
> I have a special treat for you all! Art! Follow the links to see baby Astlyr!  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Baby-Inquisitor-506489076  
> and  
> A scene from the chapter you just read!  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/He-Gripped-her-Armor-Tightly-506490964
> 
> Next chapter: 1/15/15


	6. Choices and Reunions

Part 6  
Choices and Reunions

The weather in Skyhold was turning. Astlyr noticed it as she and her people rode back across the long bridge which was the main point of access. The air still held the wintry bite that it had in Emprise De Leon. She noticed that carts were parked beside the doors to the kitchens. Nearby farmers selling winter supplies to the fortress, as it looked as though Skyhold was going to remain occupied for some time.

“What happened?!” Cullen rushed to meet them, even as a young stable-hand took the reigns of Astlyr's mount. Josie followed behind the warrior, a look of concern on her delicate features. “The guards on the walls saw you coming, but we didn't know you'd have wounded.” Cullen held up his good arm and Astlyr let Cole slide down to him. Cullen pulled the spirit boy's arm over his shoulder, bearing much of Cole's weight as Astlyr dismounted.

“I will be fine,” the spirit boy reassured Cullen at once.

“I'm certain you will be,” the warrior gave the boy a quick smile before he cast concerned eyes over the group.

“Astlyr and Cassandra are burned,” Cole reported, helpfully as Astlyr took him into her arms again and began carrying him towards the hold, followed by the others. “Iron Bull has wounds on his legs and Dorian is exhausted.”

“Apparently I'm fine,” Varric said with mock annoyance.

“You are fine, except you are worried about me and the others,” said Cole, turning to look over Astlyr's shoulder at the procession following them.

As they passed the farm carts on the way to the infirmary Astlyr gave them a glancing once over. The produce looked to be good quality, and she hoped that the cook was bartering a decent price for them. Not that Skyhold was destitute, but Astlyr had spent much of her life with only a few coppers to rub together, so she was ever vigilant for good bargaining. She also hoped that they were storing up enough food. There was no telling how many would stay in the fortress over the winter. She knew many of the mages she had liberated already planned to stay, especially with the new research tower that was nearing completion. It would serve as both quarters and college for the magcially gifted of the fortress and surrounding lands.

“Maker bless us!” the head healer, whose name was Audra, looked up from her desk as Cole and the others came in. She was a short, slender woman, with close cut blond hair and fierce eyes. She commanded her infirmary with the skill of a military leader. Two novice healers rushed to help lower the injured spirit boy onto the bed.

“I see he didn't happen to wake up while we were gone,” Astlyr looked over to where where the elven man lay. She could just make out the steady rising and falling of his narrow chest.

Myfanway stood and looked the sorry adventurers over. “Did you find the artifact?”

“Yes,” Astlyr said, a little annoyed at the elf's clear priorities, “at at no small cost to my men.” She reached into her pouch and pulled out of the frog statue. She willingly passed it to Myfanwy, who eyed it with as much distrust as Astlyr felt around it.

“Mmnnnh,” Cole made a sound which Astlyr thought was pain as the healers unwound his bandages to put on fresh. But the boy seemed to have forgotten his wounds and was staring at the frog.

“What is it, Cole?” Astlyr asked, as a young apprentice healer ushered her to a bed beside Cas. The other woman was already having salve applied to several impressive burns. Astlyr winced to look at them. Her natural Qunari toughness had protected her from the brunt of what Cassandra had suffered. She shot an apprizing glance at the rest of her team. Dorian had been placed in a chair by the fire, covered in a blanket, and had a warm drink pressed into his hands. He gave her a nod to confirm that he was alright. Bull had sustained deeper cuts than he had let on, and he sat quietly as an intimidated looking man pressed poultices onto the wounds.

Cole seemed to be staring down the statue, “I didn't notice it in the cave,” he admitted. “I was distracted. I'm sorry.”

“Cole, there were spikes sticking through parts of your body. You were allowed to be distracted,” Astlyr reassured the boy.

“That thing...it seems wrong. I can feel sadness. Like a cloud of smoke. Like death. Maybe many deaths. It sticks, like oil,” a look of concentration came over his thin face, “I did not mean to come here. Why am I here? No. No, I do not want this! No, this is a mistake! Please let me go!” When he finished he was almost screaming the words and Cullen had to snap him out of it by grabbing his arm, though gently.

“Well, that sounded reassuring,” Astlyr said, eying the statue. Myfanwy had set it down and stepped back from it, arms folded. “That was a very strong feeling, Cole.”

“A memory, still clinging to the idol,” Cole clarified as the healers finished their bandaging. At once the pale young man made as if to move.

“Wait now,” Cullen held him back, “where do you think you're going?”

“Cassandra is in pain. I can help,” the spirit boy explained, matter-of-factly.

“Cole, I am alright,” the warrior woman reassured him. “The healers are doing a good job,”

A healer was finishing applying a cooling salve to Astlyr's neck where she had been burned. “Would you remove your shirt ma'am?”

Astlyr did so without second thought as she pondered the idol. Like Cassandra she bound herself down with strips of cloth. No good having feminine parts flopping around during battle. Both women had tough bodies with hard muscle and a patchwork of scars, though Astlyr was slightly more impressive, being a qunari. She had far fewer burns on her torso than Cas had sustained, and none were serious. Cassandra's worst burns were on her arms and one on her cheek.

Cole allowed Cullen to press him back onto the bed. He still watched his fellows with obvious concern. Varric walked over and prodded the idol with a crossbow bolt. “Did we just bring home something else potentially evil?”

“Possibly,” Astlyr admitted, her brows coming together. “We need Morrigan down here.”

“I'll get someone to fetch her,” Josephine said, turning to the door.

“So, what did happen to you? You obviously succeeded in your mission, but what's this about a cave and spikes? Clearly there was also fire involved,” Cullen looked from one party member to the next.

Some of the guards drew closer to hear the tale of the adventure as well. They were clearly eager to hear it first hand, so they could share it with their friends at the end of their shift. Perhaps they would brag that they heard it from the Inquisitor herself. Astlyr made certain to make eye contact with the guards as she related the events, so they would feel included. This seemed to cheer them immensely and some even mustered the courage to ask a question or two.

By the time the beautiful mage reached the infirmary Astlyr's party was bandaged, rehydrate and warmed. Dorian especially looked much healthier when he was offered a few fresh biscuits from the kitchens. His usual energy seemed to be returning and he walked over to join the main group, which were gathered around the bed of the elf (save Cole, who lay still in his own bed, watching).

“Is this the artifact you were looking for?” Astlyr asked, holding up the frog.

Morrigan took the object and her eyes grew wide with a cat-like look of excitement which made Astlyr more than a little uneasy. “This is it indeed,” the mage smiled. “This is an item of great power. If used properly it can even restore a god.”

“You seem certain that a god is what we have here,” Cassandra said, as a healer helped her into a loose cotton shirt. “I have heard tales of demons causing people to fall asleep. Then the demon drains their energy as they slumber, whither, and eventually die. Are we about to give power to something like that?”

Several of the guards looked suddenly wary and hands strayed to sword hilts and staves.

“If it is a demon, I am certain we can contain it,” Morrigan said, with much more reassurance than anyone else seemed to feel.

“He is not a demon,” Myfanwy asserted, clearly weary of constantly reassuring everyone of this. She glared at the untrusting faces then turned to Morrigan with eagerness. “How do we use it?”

“It is quite simple,” Morrigan brought the idol over to the bed where the supposed Fen'Harel lay. She pulled over a chair and set the frog on it. Her hands sparked with magic. It reflected her in her yellow, dragon-like eyes. Astlyr could not help but envision the creature that Morrigan could transform into. Crouched like a cat, massive wings folded as it hungrily looked over its prey. “I will activate the idol with magic and...” Morrigan sent the grasping fingers of a spell towards the idol. It shimmered bright green. Fade green, Astlyr recognized, leaning forward with curious anticipation, even as her hand clasped on her sword hilt. Then there was a glimmer in front of the frog, and as they all watched, a miniature Fade rift opened, hovering before the open mouth of the statue.

“What the hell?” Varric exhaled.

“Is this dangerous?” Astlyr asked, her hand prickling as she felt her mark activate. It was eager to seal the tiny rift, as she had so many times with the large ones that had covered the continent.

“The rift cannot grow any larger,” Morrigan reassured them. Still, most of the healers and Fen'Harel's guard detail backed away, looking towards Astlyr for reassurance. This was her area of expertise after all.

“So what does it do with the little rift?” asked Cassandra, her sharp features bound in a suspicious expression. She had already drawn her own blade, which had been sheathed beside her on a bed, and the keen metal reflected the emerald light.

“The idol will pull power from the Fade and then go where I command it.” Morrigan explained as though she thought them a little slow.

“And you will command it to go to him, right Morrigan?” Astlyr questioned, pulling off her glove to bear her anchor marked hand. She knew that the mage had a lust for power. The second Morrigan made a move to do something besides give the energy to the young man on the bed, Astlyr knew she could close her fingers and seal the tiny rift. She could sense how easy it would be, after all her experience with larger ones.

“No spirits will come through?” asked Dorian.

“Oh, of course they will. Where do you think the power comes from?” Morrigan sounded pleased. “Spirits are drawn to the idol and it devours them, then passes their energy on.”

“It kills them?” Cole's voice was sharp and already had an edge to it. Astlyr shot the boy a glance before turning her attention back to the idol.

“Does it kill the spirits that come through?” Astlyr asked.

“It devours them, so I imagine they are dead. Or more accurately, destroyed.” Morrigan said, with a tinge of annoyance to her voice. It was clear she was eager to begin.

“But good spirits could die!” Cole gasped.

“The majority of spirits in the Fade are what we would consider evil, or perhaps troublesome,” Morrigan said in a calming tone, “There is a chance that a spirit such as kindness or wisdom may be devoured as well, but it is a risk we must take to waken our god-friend.”

“No, Astlyr, don't let her!” Cole begged, scooting to the side of his bed and trying to rise. As soon as he had achieved his feet his wounded leg gave out under him and he crumpled to the floor.

Dorian reached Cole first, helping the boy up and back onto the bed. The spirit sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at Astlyr with a look so intense she was certain she could feel it in her chest. She stepped back a pace, “no. I don't think so. I cannot kill a good spirit, even by accident.”

“You are being foolish,” Morrigan snapped. “Do you want this man awakened or not?”

“He can wake up on his own. I won't kill spirits,” Astlyr said, fiercely. She held out her hand, felt the familiar jab on pain in her palm as a green tendril sliced through the air like lightning and connected with the tiny Fade rift. All it took was the twitch of her fingers and a gentle motion of her wrist to close it. “I'm sorry,” she said, addressing the assemblage as a whole. “I put us through a lot of trouble for nothing. Someone call Dagna to collect this artifact. Perhaps she can study how it works and help us come up with a new strategy for waking Fen'Harel.”

Myfanwy's face was twisted in anger, but she seemed to be biting her own tongue to keep silent. Astlyr was not certain what the elf might have tried, had she not been surrounded by such intimidating company. A few of the guards muttered confused remarks, but for the most part the others seemed to agree with her decision.

“I didn't like the idea of pumping that thing full of power, dead spirits or no,” Cassandra admitted.

“Astlyr doesn't want spirits to die,” Cole said, his voice was firm and hinted at admiration.

“I spent a good deal of time talking with Solas about spirits and the Fade,” Astlyr said. “he told me that it is affected by our world. That good spirits are growing few because the power of our hate, our greed, our malice, it bleeds in. I can't risk what good remains on the chance that we will only kill evil spirits.”

“You are foolish,” Morrigan said, though she seemed resigned. “May I join your artificer in the study of the idol?”

Astlyr did not like the idea of the witch having access to something so powerful, but she was uncertain how to articulate this. “I don't trust her. She seeks power. Like a hungry calling clawing at her belly. She always wants what is just beyond her reach.” Cole filled in.

“If that is how you feel,” Morrigan had a smirk on her lips, but she dipped her head in ascent. “I can be patient. If you have a need to waste my time again, you know where I will be,” she turned and left the room with her elegant, unhurried gait.

Astlyr winced, “you aren't very diplomatic, Cole. Then again, neither am I.” She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck and looking down at the idol. Her eyes drifted to the elvish man on the bed. She had not looked at him closely since the day he had taken in whatever spirit resided in the dead bird. She made a quick study of his features. Delicate and pale, the sign of a pure-blooded elf. His eyes were closed so she could not see if they were as green as she remembered. The young man's dark curls fell over a face clear of the elvish tattoos. He looked small in the bed, but there was still a life to his features, as though he slumbered lightly. As if any second his dark lashes would part and he would waken. Out of curiosity she snapped her fingers in front of his face, but he did not flinch. His expression remained passive and still. Perfect repose.

“Maybe a handsome prince needs to kiss him. Like in the old tales,” Varric said, obviously trying to lighten the mood. A few guards chuckled nervously.

“We'll figure out how to wake him,” Astlyr reassured a still glaring Myfanwy. “A way that doesn't kill anyone.”

A mage came in to take the idol to Dagna, who had set herself up with a research station in the new tower.

Astlyr and her friends enjoyed a meal which was brought to them in the infirmary. Then Josie pressured Astlyr to get some of her mounting paperwork finished. The qunari retired to her quarters and gave it her best effort, but she was worn out from the day, and her bandages were already starting to itch, and she was just too irritable to focus. She slumped back her in her chair as her eyes grew heavier. Outside the sun was settling down amongst the mountains, bathing the snow in red like blood, inching over the land. Astlyr knew it was early to go to bed, with the day light hours growing shorter, but her chin slumped to her chest and her eyelids became too heavy for her to possibly manage.

~~~~~

“Fen'Harel, where are you?” She considered whistling, the way she would have called for her old hound, Dash. She slapped her leg without thinking, “Come here, Fen'Harel.” She stopped herself. She had probably dishonored him and now he would never come to her.

This time as she walked and looked for her canine dream companion she was wading in shallow, blackish water. It was cold, and unpleasant, and she shuddered at the creeping feeling of it soaking up her legs. Almost like grasping, icy hands. She made sure to keep moving. There were no rocks to settle on now. Only water and sad, twisted little trees with no leaves. If she focused on the trees for too long they began to look more like bodies, propped upright in positions of abject agony. The Fade was such a cheerful place.

Then she heard it. The roar of a dragon. She looked around but there was nowhere to hide, and she had no weapons. She still wore the simple, unfamiliar garb she always seemed to be wearing in the Fade these days. The dragon sounded close, so much so that she could hear the beating of its wings. She began to run, eyes desperately seeking cover. Though part of her mind knew that this was only a dream, and her body was safe at Skyhold, her instincts ran wild here. Taking control and leading her on.

The dragon's roar echoed in her head and she cast her gaze upward, certain it was right above her, but she saw nothing. Then she saw it. It appeared before her with a suddenness that made her trip as she struggled to stop running. She landed on all fours in the cold water before the beast. It shimmered like light on glass, wavering as though it was made of smoke. It blinked huge, yellow eyes at her. Then it reared back its head and laughed. She had never heard a dragon laugh, and in the Fade everything sounded wrong. She found herself unable to rise , even as she jerked her hands free of the grasping waters.

Her hand glowed green and stabbed with a familiar pain. And the wolf was beside her. He stood, blue eyes narrowed as he watched the dragon. He did not seem afraid, but scrutinized the creature, his velvety ears pinned back. Astlyr instinctively reached out to touch the wolf. Her hand was clumsy and she grabbed a handful of his thick fur. He did not seem to mind, but turned to look at her. Then his pink tongue emerged and he licked her on the cheek.

The dragon stopped laughing.

~~~~~

Knock knock knock, “Ma'am, are you in there? Inquisitor Adaar?”

Astlyr work with a jerk. A piece of paper was stuck to her cheek with drool. She hurried grabbed it away and blinked as the new morning lit her rooms. “Owww,” she grumbled, straightening with a palm to her lower back. Why the hell did she let herself fall asleep in her chair? She was already fast forgetting the laughing dragon and the wolf of her dreams.

“Ma'am?” called the voice outside her door again.

“Yes, I'm here. Come in, it's unlocked.” Astlyr shouted as she made an effort to pull a few wrinkles from her shirt. She glanced at a mirror and groaned in dismay. There were words on her cheek where the ink had left its mark.

A guardswoman came in and clearly stifled a chuckle at her leader's disheveled state. Astlyr wiped furiously at her cheek with a rag, dampened with morning-cold water from her basin. “Yes?” she asked, trying to sound serious, and failing. She knew she looked ridiculous. Some intimidating qunari she was, with white hair tangled and messy and ink all over her face.

The guard's eyes twinkled with mirth as she spoke, “The healers have asked for you. Your bandages need changing and they also wanted to ask you a favor.”

“Alright,” Astlyr said. Having wiped away the last of the black ink she ripped a brush through her stick straight, waist length hair and bundled it into a hasty bun. The guard watched, standing politely just inside the door. “Is it difficult?” she asked after a moment, “putting your hair up with the horns in the way?”

Astlyr pondered this. She did have to moved carefully to avoid them, and sometimes a strand or two would become wound around a horn and take forever to untangle. “I suppose. I've always had horns, so I hardly notice.”

“I see,” the guardswoman nodded, a pleasant smile on her homely features. She turned and began escorting Astlyr out of the room.

“You're the same guard who fetched me the other night,” Astlyr recognized as they walked. “When Sera was having her...meltdown.”

“I was,” the guardswoman looked pleased to be recognized.

“What's your name?” Astlyr questioned. Iron Bull had once taken her to secretly speak with some of her people one night, to show her the importance of everyone around her. Astlyr had decided to make an effort to know them better. As Verric would say, 'everyone has a story.'

“Jones, Ma'am. Esther Jones.” the guard answered.

“You've a Ferelden accent, Esther Jones.”

“Yes Ma'am. Born and bred in Redcliff. Why I even have a few memories of the blight, though mostly its the undead that I recall best.”

“It always seems to be undead doesn't it,” Astlyr joked.

“It does,” the guard nodded, knowingly. “I caught sight of the Hero of Ferelden though.” she had a proud look in her eyes.

“Did you?” Astlyr was impressed.

“Indeed. I was holed up in a house with the other women and children, but I saw her. She was a fierce fighter that one. And she had a qunari beside her, though he didn't have any horns.”

“Really?” Astlyr had never seen a qunari without horns, but Iron Bull had mentioned them once.

“Yes, Ma'am, and he fought beside her as though they were blood kin. Like each could predict the other's movements.”

“That is impressive,” Astlyr agreed, trying to think if there was anyone she fought with who could do the same with her. Solas, she thought bitterly. She recalled how she always seemed to know where he was on the field, even as she was in the thick and he was hanging back to cast. How he knew exactly which spell she needed him to use in any given moment.

Her face must have looked melancholy because the guardswoman asked, “are you alright Ma'am?”

“Yes,” Astlyr composed her features again as they neared the infirmary. “Just remembering old times.”

“Well, times are better now, thanks to you and yours,” the woman smiled. She had tough, worn features with a few scars. Her straw colored hair was mostly concealed by her helmet, but a few strands had gotten free and framed her face. Astlyr wondered if the guardswoman had a husband, or children.

“You and the guards have helped a great deal,” Astlyr reassured her new friend. “Without you there is no Skyhold, just a bunch of weirdos hiding in a broken fort.”

This made Guardswoman Jones laugh. Astlyr let herself laugh too. It felt good, refreshing. Things had been so serious lately. The two had reached the infirmary and Astlyr bid the guard goodbye. Was it her imagination or did there seem to be a new spring in the woman's stride as she walked away?

“Now, master Cole, you must remain in your bed! You are doing your leg more harm than good moving about like that.”

“I want to help.”

Astlyr pushed open the door. Head healer Audra was standing over the young man, who was laying on top of his covers and looking agitated. “What's going on?” Astlyr questioned, striding into the large room.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” Audra looked up, “I'm glad you're here. Did the guard I sent tell you I needed a favor?”

“She did,” Astlyr replied, taking in the pleasant room. It was mostly empty, but a few new wounded had been brought in, as well as a child. There were not many children in Skyhold, but more than there had been before the war. Word had gone out that refugees were welcome in the fortress.

The healer followed Astlyr's gaze, “a new family just came in. They were attacked by wolves on their way. A few bites were infected, but are healing nicely now, and the little one has a stubborn cough. The real trouble is your friend here,” she gestured to Cole.

“What's he done?” Astlyr fixed her eyes back on the spirit boy, who was hiding his face beneath his wide hat brim.

“He won't stay put,” Audra planted hands on her hips. “Keeps doing that 'poofing' thing and trying to help the new wounded. Except his leg should not have weight on it, and I keep telling him that, but the second I turn away there he is, standing beside one bed or another.”

“Cole,” Astlyr folded her arms, “you have to do what the healers tell you or your leg won't mend.”

“I want to help them,” Cole said quietly, looking across the room at the family.

“I know,” Astlyr sighed. “But you need to help yourself for a little while,” she thought for a moment. “Wait, Cole, didn't you tell me that you don't hear other people's pain so much when you are higher up?”

“Yes,” he finally tilted his head to look up at her.

“How about this? I'll put him in my quarters, at least for today, so he can focus on getting better.” She knew from past experience that the spirit boy healed much more quickly than an ordinary human. The hole through his leg and hand might only take him a week to repair themselves, with proper attention.

“Would that suit you, Master Cole?” Audra asked, tilting her head down to see under his hat. Astlyr knew the workers in the infirmary had a real soft spot for the spirit of compassion. He helped them a great deal under normal circumstances.

“I suppose,” Cole seemed disappointed, but willing.

Astlyr pondered for a moment, wondering if she could let Cole put his arm over her shoulder, but their height difference was too great for them to easily move that way. She had just resolved to carry him again when he teleported away. She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. “That settles that,” she grinned. “What did the family think of him?” she asked the the healer beckoned for her to sit so her bandages could be changed.

“The mother and father are still asleep, but the child thinks he's quite entertaining,” the woman chuckled. “I suppose the boy will forget him though. I used to forget him too, when we first met. At least, that's what he tells me. But then he decided I should remember.”

“How do you come by such friends?” Myfanwy asked. She was still sitting at her post on the bed beside her slumbering deity.

“Good luck I suppose,” Astlyr said, recalling how the boy had appeared, helping someone, as she would come to find he always did when he was able.

“There you are. All nice and fresh,” Audra said, stepping back from her work on Astlyr's burns. “No sign of infection, so you'll be good as new in no time at all.”

“How are the rest of my team?” Astlyr questioned as she stood.

“Mending. Some faster than others,” the healer said. “No infections, but Seeker Cassandra did get herself some cruel burns. Your Dorian is as fit as they come, however. All he needed was some warming, a few mana potions, and a good nights rest. Iron Bull hasn't been in yet, but I suspect he is doing well. You Qunari are so resilient.”

“That we are,” Astlyr agreed. “I'm going to go check on Cole. Thank you for your time,” she dipped her head.

The healer waved her off, “T'was only doing my job, Ma'am.”

Astlyr went back to her room and found that Cole was indeed there, sitting on her bed and looking contemplative. He saw her come in and gave her a thin smile. “I don't mean to be trouble for the healers,”

“You're not,” Astlyr reassured him, walking over and pulling aside some blankets to put them over him.

“I do not get cold, Astlyr. I don't need blankets,” he reminded her.

“They're for me,” she said, resolutely tucking him in, “so I feel like I'm helping.”

Cole watched her for a moment, then nodded, “I understand.”

“Will you stay here today?” Astlyr sat on the side of the bed, satisfied with her tucking.

“I will try,” the boy replied. He reached up with his good hand and removed his hat, setting it beside him on her bed. She seldom saw him without it. It seemed as though he was removing some token of office. His hair was messy and just at the length where it might fall into his eyes, which was seemingly the most it would ever grow. The sun from her tall windows made the pale hair glow golden. She resisted the urge to brush it back from his face feeling silly for the thought. She had never been fond of children, nor had she pondered having some of her own, but her pull to the spirit boy was decidedly motherly and that knowledge made her feel awkward.

Cole looked at her, his brows came together as though he was concentrating very hard, “Mother smells of wood violets and sweat. She chopped the wood alongside father and was always so strong. Strong arms to hold and to carry and to fight. Her horns were beautiful. Mine look like hers and it makes me proud. They died of the fever, mother and father both. She was not strong enough in the end.”

Astlyr looked down into Cole's pale eyes, remembering. She had dug their graves herself. Her hands twitched recalling the shovel, heavy with earth, against her palms. She had gotten the fever too, but had easily recovered. They had not. She had been old enough to leave home, and in truth had been pondering doing so, but she had stayed to help them. Two qunari alone in the wilds, raising up a fine young daughter.

“You loved them,” said Cole, in his usual, factual tone.

“I did,” she nodded. “I still do.” Thinking of them seldom brought her sadness. They had been good, if firm handed parents. She could not have asked for better.

“Thank you for letting me use your room,” Cole said. “It is quieter up here.” he looked around her sunlit quarters. “Though it will be cold for you here in the winter. This room is poorly insulated.”

She laughed quietly at his keen observations, “fortunately I like it a bit cold. And you are welcome, Cole. Any time...just so long as you remember to knock.”

He nodded. On a whim she got up and walked to her bookshelf. She did not keep many books, as she had never been much of a reader as a child. She preferred to be romping in the fields and climbing trees. She did have a few of Varric's novels and one history book which detailed the adventures of the Hero of Fereldan. This she selected and return to Cole, handing it to him.

He opened it on his lap and even gave her a smile, “thank you,” he said in that emphatic way of his. She couldn't stop a fond smile from reaching her own lips.

“I'll send someone up to check on you in a bit,” she said, “if I don't come myself.”

“I will be fine,” he said, already intent on his book.

“I know,” she said, “but I'll have someone check just the same. Like the blankets, it's more for me than you.”

“Alright,” Cole met her eyes one more time before returning his attention to the book.

She turned and began making her way back down into the keep. She intended to stop out at the stables and give Smoke a good brushing after their recent adventures. The horse needed some affection. Just as she had gathered the brushes and was heading towards his stall something caught her attention. The gates to Skyhold were opening. She suspected it was another shipment of goods for the winter, but instead two figures walked into the keep. The guards around them looked baffled and Astlyr dropped her armload of horse brushes. “Solas,” the name escaped her lips in a tiny gasp.

She ran over to him, she wasn't even ashamed, “Solas?!” she shouted this time.

The elf turned to her and gave her a big smile, which wrinkled the corners of his eyes in that familiar way. She stopped a few paces from him, taking him in with astonishment, “Hello, Astlyr,” he said.

“Where were you? What happened? Why haven't you contacted us?!” she blurted before she could stop herself.

“Shall I fetch Commander Cullen, Ma'am?” called one of the wall guards, looking uncertain.

“Yes,” Astlyr said, her voice a little too loud. “Fetch everyone! Tell them Solas is back!” she turned to her friend once again, not letting him get a word in edgewise, “Are you injured? Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Should we retire to the tavern? “ she stopped herself.

“I am sorry,” he raised a hand as though to stall her flow of questions. His expression was still good natured as ever, “I cannot stay long. My companion and I have come seeking your aid, old friend.” he gestured to the elf that was beside him. Astlyr had never seen him before. He was leaner than Solas, he had angular face and quick, clever eyes, and a hungry look. His skin, like Solas' was unmarked by elven tattoos. She pondered this. Perhaps it was no longer the fashion to wear them? “This is Celwydd. He is...an old friend of mine.”

“You are welcome here as a friend of Solas',” Astlyr nodded to the newcomer.

He did not speak, but returned her nod with a tilt of his head. His eyes roved over Skyhold, never still. If Astlyr was honest this Celwydd made her a little nervous. She pressed on, “Will you not take your rest for a moment?” she asked, giving her small friend's shoulder a playful shake, as she had used to do after a good battle. Rather than smiling and laughing, as he had done at this gesture in the past, he looked down at her hand on his arm as though it might be covered in mud. Astlyr pulled her hand back, feeling awkward. “At least tell me what became of you. We had no word. You just vanished. I had my people scouring the land for you. I was worried.”

“Were you?” Solas seemed genuinely curious at this statement.

“Of course,” she said, “You're my friend and you vanished without a goodbye. Of course I was concerned.”

“I...had business,” Solas looked a bit sad for a moment. “The orb was destroyed, and I had to deal with the repercussions of that. But I am here now, and I need your help again, my friend.”

The rest of Astlyr's company came hurrying up then. “Maker's breath, it is him!” Cullen reached them first and his eyes went wide.

Celwydd tensed, reaching for a long, elegant sword he wore at his hip. Solas reached out and stayed his hand, “easy now, these are my friends,” his eyes drifted across the assembling group. “But where are Warden Blackwall and Lady Vivienne?”

“Blackwall is helping with the rebuilding efforts in the Hinterlands,” Astlyr explained as her friends came forward to shake hands with (and in some cases attempt to hug) their long lost elven companion. “Viv went back to the court. She's keeping an eye on the empress, as best she can. It's still a bit touch and go in Orlais. Especially with our new Divine on the sunburst throne.”

“You have been busy,” Solas said, looking impressed.

“Solas has returned seeking our help,” Astlyr hurried to explain to the gathered group.

“Doesn't everyone?” Varric snarked, though Astlyr could tell the dwarf too was glad to see Solas again.

“And you are leaving immediately?” Josephine looked concerned. “You are barely recovered from your last mission. Can't it wait?” she addressed Solas with the question.

“The matter for which I seek your aid is quite time sensitive,” Solas said. He wore a placating expression, then turned his eyes back to Astlyr.

She remembered the last time he had specifically asked for her help. A spirit friend of his had been in dire need. The spirit had not survived and she knew it had hurt Solas deeply. She recalled the pain in his usually gentle eyes as he had killed the foolish mages in retribution. She had let him. It was hardly her place to decide if they should be spared. He had spoken to her afterward and their bond of friendship had been cemented in those moments. In those moments she had decided that she would always watch over him, as he had for her in those days in Haven. Now she met his gaze and was struck by an odd feeling. A feeling of coldness where warmth should be.

She shook the feeling from her mind. It had been some time since she had seen him, and there was no telling how many hardships he had faced since. “Of course we'll help,” she said. “Let us gather supplies and we'll leave as soon as we can.” She turned to her assembled company, “none of you are required to join us. I only ask for volunteers.”

“I wouldn't miss it,” Iron Bull laughed, throwing his arm around Astlyr shoulders. She laced her fingers into his, smiling.

“I suppose you'll be needing me,” Varric said, smirking slightly. “You know you can't handle things on your own.”

“This is true,” Astlyr joked, giving the dwarf a nudge on the shoulder with her hip.

Dorian struck a heroic pose, “you have but to ask and I shall stand by your side.” he proclaimed in an over-the-top voice.

“Cas, perhaps you should stay here and recuperate?” Astlyr turned to her warrior friend.

“I assume you are joking?” Cassandra's scarred face was determined, “a few burns are hardly going to keep me back in Skyhold.”

Cullen looked saddened as he watched the group disperse to gather supplies and ready the horses. Astlyr turned to her human friend, “will you keep an eye on Cole for me? He'll be staying behind this time. He needs to heal.”

“Indeed,” the man agreed, nodding, but still obviously unhappy.

“Oh, Cole!” Astlyr looked up, “Solas, I'm certain he'll want to see you! Would you come to visit him with me? He was wounded pretty badly in our last adventure.”

“No...thank you,” Solas' answer was quick and clipped. This startled Astlyr. Solas and Cole had always been close. Perhaps sharing a stronger bond even than hers with the spirit boy. The elf saw her expression and pressed on, “no, we...we must be off as soon as possible.”

Astlyr spared a glance at Celwydd, who wore a smirk she didn't like the look of. His slim hand was still resting on the hilt of his sword. She noticed that she could see all the bones of his hand. She wondered if he was ill or underfed. She tore her eyes from scrutinizing Celwydd's sunken features and turned back to her friend, “I have something else I would like you to see. If you will come with me for a moment. It pertains to your research I think. It will take my men an hour at least to be ready to depart.”

“Very well,” Solas grudgingly agreed. He turned to his fellow, “remain here.”

Celwydd nodded. Astlyr began to lead the way, but made eye contact with one of the guards. He understood her look and nodded. They would keep a close eye on the newcomer. Astlyr led on, walking slowly so Solas could keep up with her much longer stride. “Why did you leave without saying anything?” she asked again as they went.

He did not answer for a long moment, as though considering. “I was devastated by the loss of the orb,” he said. No emotion reached his voice now, Astlyr noted. She remembered her friend's face on that day. When she had destroyed Corypheus, but also the Orb of Destruction in the process. He had looked as shattered as the object he had sought. She had even spotted a tear on his cheek. She had had no idea that the thing had meant so much to him personally. She thought his interest had been academic. He went on, “I had to separate myself for a while. Spend some time traveling in the Fade, and in this world. I am sorry I did not stay long enough to say goodbye,” he did not sound sorry. His words were flat. Astlyr glanced down at his face. His mind seemed focused elsewhere. She imagined that he was thinking of the mission ahead. She knew when he was studying he could be very distracted. She let this strangeness pass.

“So in your travels you discovered something you needed my help with?” she asked, clasping her hands behind her back as she walked.

“Indeed,” he gave her a smile and this time it felt truer. “A spirit is trapped. I need you, and your anchor, to help me set him free.”

“Is it another spirit like Wisdom?” she asked. “Trapped in our world by idiotic humans?”

“In a way,” Solas said, offering no further explanation.

“Here we are,” Astlyr led Solas into the infirmary. She showed him to the bed where the supposed Fen'Harel lay and gave him a quick explanation of the situation. Myfanwy watched the proceedings, but it was clear she was getting used to all the constant comings and goings to Skyhold. She greeted Solas with a brief elven exchange, which Astlyr, of course, could not understand, and then she sat back down on the bed and turned her interest to the sketch she was working on.

“This is most intriguing,” Solas said, and this time it was clear that he meant it. His eyes sparkled with an eager light. “You say he came to you as s dead bird? Very clever. I would have never suspected...”

“Neither would I,” Astlyr chuckled. “And then at the Temple of Mythal this elvish man, Daveth, gave his body to 'Fen'Harel'”

“I did not know the Dread Wolf had any followers in the area,” Solas said, scrutinizing the young man.

Astlyr watched, and was it just her imagination, or did the man on the bed move, ever so slightly? Just a twitch of the face? A flutter of dark eyelashes? Especially when Solas leaned down and the jawbone necklace he wore brushed the young man's arm. As Solas stood straight again the unconscious elf was as still as he had ever been. “Do you have any thoughts about waking him?” She asked.

Solas sighed, touching his necklace absentmindedly, “I am afraid I cannot help you, or him, in that regard. You shall just have to wait for him to awaken. However, I must warn you that Fen'Harel is a trickster. If he does wake, you must be wary of him.”

Astlyr cast her mind back to something else she remember Solas telling her about the Dread Wolf. On their first journey to the Temple of Mythal he had told them that Fen'Harel was not the trickster the stories would have you believe, but rather, perhaps, a god of rebellion. She decided not to mention this. “So you have no idea how to wake him either?” she pressed.

“I am afraid not,” he said, “though I believe his waking could be aided by infusing him with power. I am uncertain how to do this, however.”

Astlyr bit her tongue. They had had an opportunity and she had let it pass. She decided not to mention this, feeling he would agree that killing spirits in any form was wrong. Solas loved all the Fade and its creatures, she knew.

“They're ready for you, Ma'am,” Guardswoman Jones stood in the doorway.

“Thank you,” Astlyr said, giving her a nod. “Shall we?” she asked Solas. “There is nothing you need? No supplies?”

He shook his head. “Horses for myself and Celwydd is all I require. It is not a far journey.”

“Alright then,” Astlyr said, “If you will return to the courtyard I will armor up and meet you all there.”

Solas hesitated, then nodded. He wore another strange expression. “You do remember the way?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Of course,” he answered curtly.

Astlyr went to the armory, with Guardswoman Jones tagging behind. When they were out of earshot of Solas the woman moved forward to walk beside Astlyr. “Ma'am,” she said, her tone urgent.

“Yes?”

“While we were watching that other elf, Celwydd, he requested a tour of our grounds. We could see no harm so we consented. However, when we showed him the mage tower we...we lost track of him for a few moments.”

“Did anything happen?” Astlyr questions.

“Not that we can tell, Ma'am,” Jones said. “Nothing missing, no one harmed. I just wanted to inform you.”

“Thank you, guardswoman,” Astlyr nodded to her as she selected her armor from its rack and began pulling it on. “I will be sure to keep a close eye on this Celwydd fellow as we go.” She took down the special chainmail shirt that had been made for her. It opened at the front and closed with wooden toggles so she did not have to pull it on over her horns. Her mind was busy. She wasn't certain why but this whole situation made her edgy. It was not a feeling she liked to have right at the start of a mission. Yes, she would keep a close eye on Celwydd, and on Solas too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh SNAP! Bet you didn't see that one coming! What will happen to Astlyr and her friends next? Tune id next week to find out! Same DA time, Same DA channel!
> 
> As always feel free to comment with any thoughts, and also to point out any glaring errors you might notice.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Next chapter: 1/22/15


	7. Power

Part 7  
Power

The weather could be beautiful when it wanted to be, Astlyr thought to herself as she and her company rode along. This was certainly an improvement over their last outing. The air was crisp, but not biting. The trees in The Emerald Graves still clung stubbornly to leaves as red and yellow as flames. The path they rode was partially obscured by crunching drifts of leaf-litter. The air smelled wonderful, she thought, recalling autumns at her childhood home. For a moment she could almost smell her mother's cooking wafting in on a breeze.

“It is pure luck that it isn't raining,” Dorian had ridden up beside her. The mage had clearly taken in her expression of happiness and decided to pick on her. She was careful not to let him see her smile.

“Oh yes. You wait. We've gone a whole day and night without rain, which can only mean a snow storm is on its way for certain,” she smirked.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Iron Bull trotted his horse up to join them and Astlyr could practically feel the ground shake beneath the creature's massive hooves. “Hail. Hail is the only option after so much sun and pleasant breezes.”

“Can't stand those breezes, myself,” Varric could not resist the banter. “All this pleasantness turns my stomach.”

Cassandra just shook her head at their antics. She was seldom one to join in with whatever tomfoolery the bunch got up to, but she was certainly not above enjoying it from a distance.

“Any second now one of the horses is going to tread on a wasp nest and we'll all be stung until no one can recognize us,” Astlyr said, making a show of scanning the terrain for any sign of stinging insects.

“Ooo, good one,” Varric nodded his approval.

Astlyr paused, glancing over her shoulder. Solas and his companion rode further back, conversing in low tones. She knew that the scholarly elf was never one to be overly silly, but like Cassandra he had been known to laugh at them, at the very least. Instead he barely looked up even as his mount tripped slightly on a concealed rock.

Astlyr gave Smoke's reins a gentle tug and the big horse slowed so her friends could ride on past her. She waited until Solas and Celwydd had reached her. They looked up as she joined them. “So, Solas, you were rather sparse on the details of your travels when we were in Skyhold. But now we have a few more hours ride under out belts. You've hardly spoken to us all day. Is anything the matter?”

Solas seemed to consider for a moment. “I am merely concerned about...my friend.”

“The spirit we are going to help?” Astlyr asked.

“Yes.”

“I see. Can you tell me anything about what we are going to face? Will there be mages, as there were when we tried to help your friend, Wisdom?”

“No,” Solas shook his head. “The place we are going should be a quiet one, but my friend is trapped there. I need your help to free him.”

“What can I do?” she cocked her head, “I hate to say this, but hitting people and objects with my sword is basically where my expertise begins and ends. I'm not certain how I can help you if there is no one to fight.”

“May I see your hand,” Solas asked, holding out his own.

She guessed what he meant. With her teeth she tugged off the glove on her left hand and held it out to him. He took it, scrutinizing as best he could while on a moving horse. As he did so a memory came to her. She stood against a tear in the veil. Around her strangers watched, expectant, but she did not know what she was supposed to do. She only knew the pain on her palm seared her, coursing down the veins in her wrist and towards her heart. Then a hand had grabbed her wrist and held her hand upwards towards the tear. The elf. The apostate. He was helping her. His gesture, however minor, had been enough. Now she looked across at that same elf, only there was something changed about him. She could not put her finger on it. Certainly he was quieter. The Solas she knew would not have ridden so far back. He might have engaged in a lively debate with Varric or Dorian. He might have speculated about the wolf statues they passed. Something.

“I can sense that it is still bound to your soul,” he muttered, almost too quiet for her to hear.

“The anchor?” she asked, taking her hand back and looking at the dormant mark. “If you say so. It certainly seems to behave the same as it ever did.”

“Hmmm, indeed,” Solas answered, considering.

Astlyr glanced up and had the misfortune of meeting Celwydd's cold gaze. The slim elf was downright unnerving. He seemed to be able to see through her armor and flesh to her bones, and she couldn't shake the feeling that he was mentally dissecting her. Her skin crawled and she looked down again.

“I never asked you,” Solas was speaking, his tone taking on a more conversational note. More like his old self. “What were you doing in the Temple of Sacred Ashes when the breach was formed? A qunari woman happens to wander in right as a deadly ritual is being performed? Rather unusual, wouldn't you agree?”

Astlyr considered for a moment. This was true. In fact, no one seemed eager to ask her about her what has brought her to the temple. Everyone assumed fate or the Maker were involved, and happily left the topic alone. “It was dumb luck,” she shrugged. Her other friends had slowed their mounts as well, to hear. “Which is what I keep telling people if they would ever listen,” she said wryly. “As I recall it was snowing pretty badly. I had been traveling alone in the mountains for some days. I was cold, hungry and lost. I had used up all the money from my last job, but I had heard that the followers of the Maker could be soft. They'd likely give me food, so when I saw their temple, in I went.”

“That's it? You were going to beg?” Solas asked, eyebrows raised.

“Well, you don't need to say it like that,” Astlyr said, “I was going to...ask for food. Inside it was cold and empty and I thought no one was around, but then I heard voices in the inner chamber. I started in that direction and I heard a cry for help. So, as Cole would say, I helped.”

“And look where it got you,” Varric snarked.

“I know,” Astlyr gave him a playful grin, “teach me to help people.”

“So it really was luck?” Dorian asked.

“Divine luck,” Cassandra pointed out. “I had my doubts about Astlyr being the Herald of Andraste, but I can still see how the Maker might have brought her to that temple at exactly the right time.”

Astlyr tried not to let anyone see her roll her eyes. Though she didn't hear it much any more, she was still royally sick of the title of Herald. Inquisitor was better by far.

“The place is not far now,” Solas spoke, urging his horse to trot. The others did the same, following him. Astlyr felt a cold rush come over her as they went. As though the air had turned from balmy to chill. She ignored it, focusing on the area around her for possible signs of danger. They were moving into a deepening gully with walls of jagged rock on either side. It was fast becoming a canyon, and was growing narrow. She wondered how long they could remain on their horses as her toes touched the walls.

Ahead Solas called something, though she could not make out what. In a moment she saw, as the narrow pathway opened up into a valley, surrounded on all sides by high rock walls. In the center of the area stood stood an odd structure. At first it appeared to be a tall mound of tiny stones, almost matching her in height. As they drew nearer she saw that each, smooth, oval stone was about the size of her palm and was intricately placed. There were thousands, maybe more, and they formed a sort of enclosure with an entrance as tall as Solas. She marveled how the thing managed to stand. She was no builder, but she could tell the construction was painstaking. She wondered how long it had been there. It would have made a lousy shelter, she thought as she studied it. It was about the right size for an elf, or a short human to stand inside, but not much else. No room to sit, and she imagined a really strong wing might even topple it. At the doorway to the structure sat a larger stone with an indentations in its surface. Cradled in this indentation was something she had seen before. She dismounted and drew nearer. “Is that...?”

“The orb?” Cassandra recognized it as well. Soon everyone had climbed down from their mounts and was eying the strange archway.

“What remains of it,” said Solas, suddenly looking sad. Not as she had seen him when the orb had first been broken, but still distraught. Before she could reach out, or offer reassurance, Celwydd was there, placing a hand on Solas' shoulders and muttering to him. Astlyr felt her skin go clammy. Her warrior's instinct, or perhaps a sense that ran deeper still, was pricking at her mind. Perhaps it was this place. High stone walls looming above. She could make out a few trees with roots probing experimentally downward at the top of the cliffs. This would be a bad place to be ambushed. Archers could appear overhead and she and her men could be wounded or worse in seconds. Her hand strayed to her shield without her notice.

“I don't like this,” Iron Bull spoke in her ear. At least he had the same feeling, she thought with a dark sense of certainty. Perhaps she wasn't insane.

Astlyr turned to the horses, who stood in a bunch behind the group. “I'll send them out,” she said, keeping her voice level. She moved over to Smoke and tugged a red strip of cloth that was hidden under a leather fold on his saddle so it was hanging visible. Then, keeping her body between Solas and the red cloth, she moved the horse around and gave him a quick slap on the rump, “Go, Smoke. Get clear,” she shouted.

Doing as he was trained the horse turned and darted back out the way they had come. The other mounts followed him willingly. Astlyr caught Cassandra's eye and nodded fractionally. The red cloth was a quick and easy call for help. The horse would wait outside the canyon, trained to stay clear when ordered to to keep him safe during battles. At a special whistle from Astlyr Smoke would return to Skyhold and Cullen would see the cloth, then mobilize his men to the Emerald Graves. A pity there was no easy way to tell him exactly where she was, but Cullen had a lot of soldiers.

She turned back to the two elves. “So...” she asked, rocking back on her heels slightly, still eying the cliff-tops. “What is this stone thingy?”

“It is a magical trap, of sorts,” Solas explained. “My friend is inside. When I came upon it, it was in grave disrepair, but Celwydd has gone to great pains to ensure that every stone is in its proper place. Now all we need is you.”

“And I can help how?” Astlyr questioned, watching out of the corner of her eye as the rest of her team got into a rough formation, just to be safe.

“We need the anchor,” Solas nodded towards her hand, his expression grim. There was a tight set to his lips. Determination? Fear?

“The anchor only opens rifts to the Fade,” Astlyr pulled off both her gloves and tucked them into her belt. Then she looked at her palm, the green mark still dormant.

“It is more than that,” Solas said, and a little of his old self seemed to return. An eagerness for knowledge that she recognized. “The anchor can be many things if wielded properly.”

Astlyr frowned, still uncertain what he was driving at. “Are you going to have me open a fade rift inside this stone thing?”

Solas waved away her words and smiled thinly, “No, no. You need not open a rift at all. Your mark reacts to, and controls aspects of the Fade, this is true. But it can also be used for other purposes. All we need of you is that you press your hand to the stones, just there.” He indicated a spot with a gesture.

“Press my hand to the stones and what?” Astlyr stepped forward, cautiously. She raised her palm towards the object, awaiting a reaction, but nothing happened.

“I will facilitate the rest,” Solas smiled encouragingly at her. That smile, which reached his eyes, caught her and made her remember the elf who had been her friend. The man who had stood beside her in almost every adventure. Who had entered the Fade with her. Who had walked with her in dreams when her spirit might have lost its way. Though she felt a tightness in her chest she nodded. Solas kept smiling warmly, gesturing that she should place her hand on the top of the door-frame, which for her was shoulder height. This she did, though carefully, so as not to knock anything out of place. She could feel Calwydd's cold eyes watching her every move.

Nothing happened. The many oval rocks were cool to the touch, but it did not so much as make her hand prickle. Then Solas stepped up beside her with his graceful stride. He raised his slim hands, magic bursting to life in them. A few artful motions sent the magic surging towards her. The white light collided with her hand where it rested and now she did feel something. A kind of tugging deep in her chest. The pull of energies up her arm and into her palm. It was an odd sensation. Like waves receding from shore. It wasn't painful, but certainly strange.

Solas spoke quietly as he channeled his magic to her. “The anchor mark may be on your hand, but the magic itself runs much deeper. The moment it was given to you, the anchor wrapped itself around every part of you. It is bound to you, heart, lungs, brain, everything. This is why Corypheus could not take it from you. He could never separate what was you and what was the anchor.” he paused a moment, concentrating.

Astlyr could sense rather than see her team's unease as they stood back, watching. They must have been really nervous, she realized. None of them were making snarky comments. Solas continued, a little breathlessly, “I do not believe an ordinary person could wield the anchor. It would take one of great physical or mental fortitude.”

“I've got the physical part down,” Astlyr said, watching as the white magic over her hand began to mix with green. She wasn't certain where the emerald strands were coming from until she realized, they were emanating from her. “This may be the closest I'll ever come to casting a spell,” she mused aloud, more to reassure her people that she was alright than anything.

“Perhaps,” Solas chuckled.

As Astlyr watched the white and green light from their hands traveled down to the strange doorway. It followed paths between the little stones like water trickling downward. Astlyr spared a sideways glance at Solas. His face was bright, eager, though sweat was visible on his brow. “Are you alright?” she asked, quiet enough so that only he would hear.

He gave her a quick smile before his face returned to a look of concentration, “this is less than ideal. The orb would have been...” he seemed to catch himself and fell silent.

Astlyr watched as their joined magics coated the structure and it cascaded over the doorway like a glittering waterfall. She gaped, fascinated as a cat, when the colors blurred, blended, and separated again, forming a sort of curtain before the door. Then a shape became visible behind it. Much shorter than she, and slender. Elvish, she guessed as she watched the figure turn and thought she caught sight of the outline of a pointed ear. She could not make out features, only the shape, which appeared to be male. The man had come to stand directly before her, separated only by the curtain of tumbling magic. Astlyr wasn't certain she liked the way the shadow man seemed to stare at her, even thought she could not see his eyes. “Is that your friend?” she asked Solas.

“It is!” Solas' voice was strained, but excited.

Astlyr could feel the energy really starting to pull from her now. Surging towards her hand and out into the object she touched. Solas was obviously struggling to match it with his own magic. She felt as though she had just gone for a run. Her muscles protested faintly and she was panting. “How much longer?” she asked.

“To be honest with you, I am not certain. I've never done this before,” Solas admitted. “Perhaps if you focused your mind on the task at hand?”

Astlyr tried to clear her thoughts and focus, as Solas had suggested. She found this surprisingly difficult. They ran and mingled like the magic before her eyes. One moment she was remembering running through a grassy field with her old dog, Dash. The next she was freezing and alone in the rubble of Haven, desperately searching for her new friends. Then she was chattering loudly with a lively merc band she had led for a few months before she had found her way to the fateful Temple of Sacred Ashes.

She was starting to feel more like she had just gone a through a rigorous workout. The strain must have been obvious to her companions. “You good, Kadan?” Iron Bull asked.

“Yeah,” Astlyr answered, but she sounded breathier than she expected. She tried to clear her mind. It was growing more difficult, and suddenly images were forcefully invading. Like daydreams only she could not shake them. Her mind kept drifting towards memories of herself at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The Divine reaching towards her in the Fade. The moment when the woman's hand had met hers. And then pain exploded up her arm and into her chest. She yelled, reared back, but she could not take her hand from the stones. She heard Solas gasp as well and then green and white light engulfed them both. It may have been for mere seconds, but it felt far too long to bear. Astlyr was finally thrown back onto her ass. She sat blinking and cradling her arm, which still throbbed the way it often did after she closed a rift. 

Her friends surrounded her in seconds, hands reaching to help her up. Cassandra in front of her with shield ready. Astlyr stumbled to her feet, Her movements were clumsy, her muscles burned with weariness. She did her best to reassure her companions, “I'm alright. I'm fine. Well...that was an experience.”

“Did it work?” Dorian asked.

All around the stone structure a hazy purplish fog hovered, obscuring both the object and the elves who had stood beside it. Astlyr waved away a tendril as he crept towards her. “Solas?” she called, urgently.

Then there was the sound of laughter, and it was at once foreign and familiar. It was not the sound of her friend, that was certain. The fog slowly cleared, creeping to earth and seeming to slink away like a living thing. Astlyr's friends moved to avoid letting it touch them. Finally she could see Solas, as well as Celwydd. Another figure stood with them, having seemingly stepped from the stone doorway. An elvish man in ornate clothes. His hair was golden and it shimmered with an unnatural light. He turned to the group, eyes flashing. Astlyr could feel a power in his look alone.

Then she realized, it was Solas who was laughing. Only it wasn't him. Wasn't his voice at all. When he looked at her there was something very different in his eyes. It took her a moment to place it, even as she grappled for her sword with a clumsy hand. They were a dragon's eyes, and his laughter was that of a dragon. She was not certain how she knew, but she knew. Unequivocally.

Solas stopped his unnerving laughter and fixed his alien eyes on her. Astlyr shuddered. Though the man before her had Solas' face, there was suddenly very little of her old friend about him. She hesitated. Part of her mind still tugged, trying to assure her that the elf she knew would never let anything bad happen to them. But The Maker knew what had happened to him on his journey's after he had so abruptly abandoned her. Was he possessed? Being controlled by something other? Her lips parted to speak, but her voice caught in her throat as the man they had freed flexed his shoulders and neck, like an athlete about to compete, and then transformed.

Had Astlyr not witnessed a woman transforming into a dragon once before she might have been more shocked. As it was, the situation was going from confusing to bad in an alarmingly short span of time. The man she had helped to free transformed with a burst of smoke and magic which knocked Astlyr and her people back against one of the craggy stone walls of the valley. Overhead storm clouds rolled in with an unnatural speed. They roiled over and over in their hurry to blot out the sun. Lightning crackled across the dark mass of the sky as Astlyr pulled her shield into place and faced down the creature that stood before them.

It was not quite dragon, though certainly large enough to be mistaken for one. In point of fact it was even more massive than most dragons she had seen. It was all rippling muscle beneath silver-black scales. Small eyes peered from a huge head, with an impressive lower jaw which looked like it could easily chomp an aged oak tree in half with one bite. The beast seemed to consider for a moment, then swung its head around on its short, sinewy neck to study the qunari and her people.

“This does not look good,” Varric spoke for them all as he aimed Bianca, awaiting instruction.

“It does not,” Astlyr agreed. “Dragon formation,” she ordered curtly. She shot a glance towards the valley's only exit. They could make a break for it. She didn't like the idea of fighting this thing in such close quarters. Not at all. She saw Solas and his fellow elf making their way towards the point of egress. They strode calmly. Solas had not even drawn his staff. Astlyr gripped her sword hilt tighter, fighting the urge to call out to her friend. Clearly whatever the giant creature was (demon perhaps) it was exerting control over the scholarly elf. Inwardly she cursed herself for not recognizing any signs of his now obvious possession.

She signaled to her people with a quick nod of her head, indicating that they should move their formation towards the pathway out of the valley. The moment they did so, the monster attacked.

Claws the size of Astlyr's forearm raked the earth in front of her, churning up dirt and rock. She barely managed to dodge, turning her clumsiness into a fresh action. She spun, swinging shield edge and sword, striking the massive limb. Her attack left a shallow wound in the scaled flesh, but certainly no more than a paper cut to the beast that towered over them. Fighting was difficult in the confined space. The creature took up almost all of the valley. Its tail and hind legs had already reduced the intricate stone structure to rubble. It was clearly intelligent, as it pivoted the fight so that she and her men were forced further from the exit. It clawed and bit at them as they struggled to find ways to combat it.

“Varric, focus on its eyes!” Astlyr shouted as she and Cassandra prepared to charge at a leg with their shields. She hesitated a moment to put her finger and thumb into her mouth and blew two sharp whistles. This was Smoke's signal to run for help. It was clear to her that this monster was not going to let them pass.

Dorian attempted to root the creature to the earth with a blast of ice magic to a limb, but it barely wrapped around and was easily shaken off. Iron Bull worked on the opposite foreleg from Astlyr and Cassandra, smashing with his maul. He was doing an effective job of distracting the monster, but little else.

Varric had found himself a rock to hide behind while he took careful aim at the mammoth head. Astlyr saw the motion of his bolt letting fly as she and Cas struggled not to be crushed underfoot. Already Astlyr head been knocked down and a claw had slashed her leg. Her thigh was streaming with warm blood, but she little noticed. In battle she found she could often ignore wounds. Perhaps a trait of her Qunari nature. 

Varric's first bolt missed by a narrow margin, glancing off the creature's cheekbone. It gave a snort which almost blew Dorian off his feet as he lobbed a fireball at it. His fireball went off course and narrowly missed Iron Bull. The warrior snarled as he continued his assault, “Can we please not kill me with friendly fire right now? I'm a little busy!”

“Sorry,” Dorian shouted, though he was already focusing on his next spell.

“Varric!” Cassandra shouted as the foot came down and knocked her to one side. She struggled to stand as the talon reached for her. “Shoot it please!”

Astlyr moved to aid Cassandra, though she felt sluggish. The magic from before had left her drained. She was not up to her usual fighting form. She cursed repeatedly and loudly. Varric shot more bolts. A rapid-fire spray. This time a bolt found its home in the creature's eye. The roar the monster let out was so loud that the fighters had to clamp hands over their ears. The earth shook with it. Then the creature struck out with the limb that Cas and Astlyr had been trying to hold at bay, and swatted Varric aside, completely destroying the rock he had been hiding behind. The dwarf was thrown several feet and landed hard. Then he lay still.

“Varric!” Cassandra moved first, ignoring the wounds she had already sustained she made a run for the dwarf.

“Cas! Stay in formation!” Astlyr yelled, but to no avail.

The beast brought its foot down on the warrior woman. She blocked upwards with her shield but the monster needed only to apply a little of its weight to press her to earth. She gave a desperate cry, slashing wildly at the pad of the monster's foot with her blade. Astlyr rushed to her aid, but there was little she could do but add her own blade to the ineffectual stabs. Dorian opened up with his magic. Astlyr felt the cold and heat of his spells blasting past either side of her head, and she could only trust that he would not take off her ear.

Cassandra was well and truly pinned, and the creature was pressing down. Astlyr watched in horror as her friend's eye grew wide and a small gout of blood bubbled from between her lips. Astlyr gave her own roar of anger and drove her sword into the beast's flesh with as much force as she could muster, which was considerable. This seemed to do the trick as the creature lifted its leg, though it took her sword with it. Then it swung the wounded limb and slammed Astlyr back against the stone wall. She felt her armor bend with the force and then it was difficult to breath as the metal compacted against her chest. “Bull!” She coughed as she struggled to get a good breath, tugging at the buckles of her breastplate to free herself from it.

Iron Bull was there in moments, and attacking with a wild ferocity she had not seen before. For someone to impressive of size, he moved quickly. His blows would have pulped a human's entire body. His maul left deep and bleeding gouges in the thick flesh of the monster. He voiced his war cry with what Astlyr could almost imagine was a kind of glee. Impossible battles were just his speed. Then, even as she watched, throwing her badly dented breastplate from herself, the creature reached down and grabbed Iron Bull in its mouth.

“No!” Astlry screamed. She charged again, though she kept her eyes up on her lover where he was trapped in the beast's enormous teeth. The creature bit down, even as Bull smashed at its face with his maul. Astlyr heard a sickening crunch and Iron Bull went limp. “Bull!” she cried, her voice breaking as he tumbled from the monster's jaws and hit the ground with a thud that made her insides twist. She knew she could not make a run for him. She had the monster's focus for the moment. “Dorian!” she shouted, making a dash herself for Cassandra, and the woman's sword.

With the last two prey going in opposite directions the monster seemed uncertain for a moment. It shifted its massive limbs, obviously in pain from the numerous wounds that had been inflicted upon it. It did not bother to attempt to claw the arrow from its eye. Instead it seemed to make a decision and went for Dorian. Astlyr realized this and made a hasty choice. Go for a sword or try to reach her mage friend? She placed herself, and her shield, between the creature's slow, but deadly attack. She felt the shield give as if it were paper and her arm shatter beneath it. This was a bit more troubling than the thigh wound, she realized as her arm went limp. Pain seared up to her shoulder and she suddenly had to fight hard not to vomit. She let the shield slip from her useless limb and then struggled to get what remained of it onto her other arm.

Dorian shot spell after spell at the beast, but she could tell he was running out of mana as well as strength. She could see a bleeding wound on his forehead she had not noticed. Likely cause by flying rocky debris as the creature tore up the earth. He met her eyes in that moment. His look was a question. Would they stay with their unconscious or dead friends? Would they attempt to win the unwindable? Or should they try to make for the exit? Perhaps, if they both chose different routs one of them might live.

Astlyr moved closer to him, once again placing herself between the creature and the mage. She could hear his ragged breathing behind her. “So...” he panted, “Blaze of glory then?”

“Looks that way,” she said between gritted teeth. Her vision had gone red. The last blood-rage of Astlyr Adaar, she thought bitterly as the monster struck at them with a claw, and then snapped with its jaws. It grabbed Astlyr's shield in its maw and jerked. Luckily the straps had been loosened when she had let it fall from her broken arm, or her other limb would have been ripped from her body. As it was she felt a pop that might have been dislocation as her shield was torn free.

She gritted her teeth as the claws came in again. Dorian used ice to try to slow the blow. He succeeded, but it was not enough. Both of them were knocked back against the stones. Astlyr felt her mind sink towards unconsciousness, but she fought it, forcing her eyes to focus. The claws had missed her for the most part, leaving two deep grooves on either side of her legs. She heard Dorian moan and turned to see a claw had struck him, leaving an ugly wound from chest to hip. Like her he was clinging doggedly to consciousness. He met her eyes with his dark ones and what she saw there she had not expected. A look of wild ferocity, like the one she knew shone in her own eyes. The desire, the drive, to win the unwindable. He reached towards her and she grabbed his hand as best she could with her ruined limb. “I'm sorry,” she mouthed, unable to get the air into her lungs to speak.

He gave his head a small but determined shake, not taking his gaze from hers. It was clear he had decided he wanted his last view to be the face of his friend rather than the creature that would kill them. She felt his bloody fingers tighten around hers. Green light exploded from their clasped hands and Astlyr was nearly blinded. Her muzzy mind thought, Oh good. The demon breaths veil-fire. Just what we needed.

The green light began to form a dome over the two of them. Dorian, obviously as confused as she, raised his free hand and the bubble of magic that covered them grew larger. He was clearly trying to concentrate, then made and fist with his upraised hand, and spread his fingers in a quick gesture. The green barrier exploded outwards smashing into the monster with amazing forced. It crushed the creature against the opposite wall and Astlyr heard its roar of agony.

Her world was getting fuzzy around the edges. A white mist creeping in. She felt her hand slip from Dorian's and she turned her head (about the only part of her she had control over) to see that he had passed out, but now a green strand of magic, like the one that would form from her to a rift when she closed it, arched from her palm to Dorian's. It fizzled and jumped weakly, but it was still there. She turned her weary gaze back to seek the monster which had been crushed against the valley wall, but it was gone. Her mind did not have to to ponder what might have happened to it as she finally fell into the abyss of unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. I warned you all that I like to beat up on characters, and now everyone is looking pretty grim! Did that giant monster kill anyone?! Best tune in next week to find out! Same DA time same DA channel!
> 
> As always, I love comments (they feed my enormous ego) and also can help point out any errors, etc.  
> As you may have noticed I have begun stretching and expanding the lore a bit. While I will try to remain mostly true to the canon the games give us (I have not read the books, so if I miss a detail from a book please do not hesitate to tell me). However, I will tweak a few things, and will expand on what the games give us from my own imagination. Which, I suspect, is partly why you tune in!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Next chapter: 1/29/15


	8. Awakenings

Part 8  
Awakening

Astlyr saw the world in flashes.  
Blue sky with a bird flapping through it—Blackness.  
A shout, “they're over here, hurry!” --Blackness.  
A face hovering over her, she wasn't certain whose –Blackness.  
“-Won't make it through the night if we don't...” --Blackness.  
A cool hand resting over her eyes and a sudden feeling of calm. --Blackness.  
Something nestled beside her on a bed. An animal? A wolf? --Blackness.

When she was able to open her eyes and keep them open it was night. There was soft light from a nearby fireplace and a few candles as the only illumination. Somewhere in the warm room she could hear someone moving. She took a moment to study the rafters. Herbs hung above her. The scent was meant to keep out infection, she recalled, and perhaps evil spirits. Her mind felt like that of a child. Unable to hold on to complex thoughts. Instead she pondered the herbs. Slowly, as she did this, her memories arranged themselves like books fallen from a shelf, back into a semblance of recollection. First came a feeling of betrayal. She couldn't put her finger on it for a long moment, then finally recalled Solas' face. Only it wasn't his face. The eyes of a dragon had replaced his kind ones. She shuddered.

She managed to look down at herself. Her right arm was in a sling against her chest. The other was stiffly splinted and bandaged, laying straight at her side. It felt as though the bone had been replaced with a blade, which sliced away at tender muscle. She tried not to think about it, though her eyes watered.

Then her mind really came to life and she tried to sit up. “My men!” her voice was cracked and dry as old parchment. The motion of attempting to rise was extremely painful and her head spun wildly. Suddenly two hands were at her shoulders, pressing her back down.

“No, no, Astlyr. You must be still.”

“Cole?” she allowed herself to be pressed back onto the soft bed.

“Yes,” the pale boy smiled down at her. “I'm here. I am to fetch the others as soon as you wake, and you are awake, so I will go get them.”

Before the spirit boy could vanish she grabbed his hand, a motion which sent pain slicing up her arm. She bit back a grimace and asked, “Cole. My men?”

He turned his wan eyes back down to her and his mouth tilted in what might have been his attempt at an encouraging smile. “They all live. I know you are very worried about them. And...angry because of Solas?” he tilted his head, confused. “His name is jumbled in your mind. Thorns on a tree and you bleed. Bending to bow and you are betrayed. What happened?” He gently untwined her fingers from his and lay her arm back beside her. Then he rested his hand on her arm soothing the pain with his gift. His eyes held the careful, gentle quality she had seen as he watched over other wounded. It was strange having that expression fixed on her.

“Go bring the others, Cole. I'll tell everyone what happened at once.” she said. She noticed he stood leaning on a cane, his wounded leg held up so he did not put much weight on it. She hoped he was not doing himself harm being up and about.

He caught her concern with a tilt of his head, “I am alright, Astlyr,” he reassured her before vanishing.

“That boy,” another voice spoke. Astlyr turned her head to see Audra, the lead healer walking over. “You should have seen the state he was in when you were all brought back to Skyhold. He sensed you coming before you were even on the bridge. He popped down here and told us to get ready because we had wounded coming in and before I knew, it you lot were carried through that door,” she shook her head, her expression serious. “And you were in a bad state, let me tell you. Cole wouldn't be still, so I convinced him to at least use a cane.”

“He's not doing himself more harm is he?” Astlyr questioned, attempting to push herself up to a sitting position. This failed as her limbs seemed to have been replaced with wet noodles. She cursed under her breath.

“I don't believe so,” Audra answered her. Then the healer motioned with her head to one of the guards standing silently beside the still slumbering elven 'god'. The man came over and between the two of them they propped Astlyr up against a mound of pillows and the headboard.

“I'm glad to see you awake, ma'am,” the guard said, touching the brim of his helmet in salute.

“I am too,” Astlyr gave him her best encouraging smile before he returned to his guarding duties. Now the qunari took in the infirmary. A warm fire blazed on the hearth and all around her her team slumbered on various beds. To her left was Dorian, the mage's chest rising and falling slowly. Across from her Iron Bull lay. She could make out that he was covered in many bandages. She shuddered to remember what had happened to her kadan and wished she could go to him, but she knew that motion would be about as successful as her attempt to sit up. In beds beside Bull rested Varric and Cassandra. She could not make out the extent of their injuries. “How are they?” she asked.

“Some better than others,” Audra admitted, sitting down on the edge of Astlyr bed and taking her pulse, seemingly more out of habit than anything. “Varric had a serious head wound and a few impressive lacerations, but that's all. Dorian...” she glanced sideways at the quiet mage, “it was a miracle the wound he sustained missed puncturing his stomach or intestines. Some ribs needed resetting and he had his own head wound, but he is resting well now.” Astlyr winced as she remembered standing with her friend as the monster had slashed at them. “You, broke your left arm in three places. Your other arm was almost dislocated, but I found it to be badly strained and no more. As to your leg; the wound missed the major artery there, or you would have bled to death before help found you. Iron Bull and Cassandra were the worst,” Audra looked pained herself, “I freely admit they might have died if not for-”

“If not for a little magical assistance.” a familiar, if unexpected voice in the doorway got Astlyr's attention.

“Viv!” she exclaimed, and every muscle in her body protested.

The elegant mage strode into the room, her dark eyes kind. Astlyr knew she was the only person who could get away with calling the enchantress 'Viv' and she smiled to herself. Audra nodded in agreement with the woman's words, “Lady Vivienne arrived in time to help us. She was able, along with our other mages, to repair the damage to Iron Bull and Cassandra's internal organs. Otherwise...they would not have survived.”

“You are lucky indeed,” Vivienne said, a smile on her lips, “that I was already on my way back to Skyhold. I had plans to stay the winter and help your mages gain some discipline, as their circle is no longer there for them.” She did not speak bitterly, though Astlyr knew she disapproved of disbanding the mage circles.

“Thank the Maker!” Cullen fairly charged into the room. His weary face was lined with concern, but hopeful. He rushed to Astlyr, giving her a once over his his eyes before seeming satisfied that she was not going to die on the spot. Then he pulled up a chair and plopped down at her side. She noted that his arm was bandaged, but no longer in a sling. She wondered how long she had been unconscious.

“Well, look who's alive,” Astlyr looked up in surprise to see Blackwall enter the room, arms folded, but a cheerful expression on his worn features.

“What are you doing here?” Astlyr questioned, smiling warmly.

“Well,” he gave her an expressive shrug and a slight smile. “I told you that I was going to go aid in the rebuilding in the nearby villages, and I started out to do just that. A couple of the grey warnden lads stayed with me and...they kept talking about their calling and their important duty should a blight arise and it got me thinking. All this time I've been pretending to be a warden, and now that my true identity is known by more than just myself I got up the nerve to ask them...”

“You went through the joining?” Astlyr raised her eyebrows.

“I did,” the man nodded, looking proud.

“I've heard that it can kill you,” Asltyr pointed out.

“It can,” Blackwall looked no less pleased with himself. “But I survived it, obviously.”

“I am very glad,” Astlyr gave him her biggest grin.

“Any road, I was back to helping with the rebuilding when I got word that some of ours had been in a bad skirmish and I came to make sure everyone was alright.”

“Some of us almost weren't” the Inquisitor glanced wanly across the room towards her friends on the beds.

“Don't fuss about that now, my dear,” said Vivienne, “they will live, thanks to a good deal of magical intervention and skill. I must say, it is perhaps better that so many mages have remained here. It is good to have those with great power feeling grateful to you,” her smile had an edge to it, but Astlyr ignored this. She was far too pleased to be alive and surrounded by her friends.

“Ah, you are awake. Cole nearly scared me to death, waking me up with his freezing cold hand on my arm,” Josephine came in next, her long nightdress swishing around her legs. Her black, curly hair was down, falling perfectly around her shoulders. Astlyr idly wondered why her own hair was always such a mess when Josie's could look like that right out of bed.

Finally Sera marched into the room, her arms folded and her expression dangerous. Cole followed timidly behind her, shrugging when the others gave him a look. “She told me to let her know as well. She doesn't like me, so it was difficult for her to ask.”

Sera balled her hand into a fist and slammed it into Astlyr's shoulder, “THAT was for almost dying!” she snarled.

She was so loud that Myfanwy, who was sleeping in a bed beside that of the young man who had been her brother, woke with a start, then glared at Sera suspiciously.

Before anyone could object, or pull Sera away from their inquisitor Astlyr, smiled grimly, “Point taken,” she said, meeting the blond elf's eyes.

Everyone slowly settled around the room. They were admittedly rather noisy and the healers glared as they tended their patients. Varric woke and reassured everyone that he was doing well. Cullen explained that Astlyr had been out for three days. In that time Varric had woken up and explained all that he could remember, though his version was limited.

“How did you find us?” Astlyr asked, taking the warm cup of tea that a healer was offering her and sipping slowly. Cole, who was sitting on the side of her bed, occasionally reached over to touch one of her arms when the pain became bad.

Cullen smiled wanly. He had a night's worth of stubble on his jaw and looked somehow older in the dim light of the room. “Your horse made good time back to us and I saw the red banner on his saddle so I mobilized my men immediately. Once in the Emerald Graves we encountered some...travelers,” Astlyr knew he meant bandits and a grin twitched on her own lips. “We er...compensated them for their trouble and they told us that there had been the sound of what they had assumed was a dragon, as well as some unnatural weather happening, not far from us.”

“You hear 'dragon' and naturally think 'that must be where the Inquisitor is?'” Varric joined in, looking jovial for someone with a bandage on his head.

“You'd be surprised how often that is true,” Cullen chuckled, his face brightening slightly. “We found you in that valley. Some of your were barely alive,” Cullen looked down at his hands in his lap. “Varric told us that Solas summoned something? A demon?”

“It would seem that way,” Astlyr said, clenching her hand around her cup so that her left arm began to throb. Cole gently wrested the cup from her grip. “I think Solas was being controlled somehow. Maybe by that other elf, Celwydd? I didn't think he was a mage, but maybe it was something else. An artifact perhaps?”

“Or maybe old baldy-elf just betrayed us,” Sera pointed out, tucking up her feet so she was sitting on a bed with her knees up to her chin.

“I suppose we can't discount it,” Astlyr said quietly.

“Solas looks up as I enter and a smile comes to his fond face. 'My friend,' he says, and I know he means it. Warm, like sunlight on my skin. Smells of field flowers and cool streams. Others fear me, but this one trusts me, and tells me to try.” Cole said, meeting Astlyr's eyes. “You made him happy, Astlyr,” the boy asserted firmly.

“Solas doesn't seem like the type to betray us. My money's on mind control.” Varric said, folding his hands in his lap.

“I read your report on the last demon he wanted you to help,” Josie began rifling through some of the papers she always carried on her special hand-held board. She didn't find what she was searching for and she looked up, pursing her full lips, “what I mean is: the last time you encountered a demon at Solas' bidding, he was attempting to help a good spirit. Could he had been trying to do this again?”

Astlyr shook her head, “you didn't see him right before the creature attacked us. He wasn't himself. And the demon just let him walk right past and leave without being harmed. I think whatever that giant fucker was, it was controlling him somehow.”

“So what do we do then?” Sera asked, cocking her head so her uneven hair fell over her eye.

“We try to find him,” Astlyr said. “We have to try to help him if we can.”

“And kill 'im if we can't, right?” Sera rocked back, holding her feet together with her hands.

“Yes.” Cole's voice was cold and it startled the group. “If he is a demon we have to kill him,” he fixed his unnerving gaze on Astlyr again and she found she had to look away.

“For once you and me agree, creepy,” Sera said sitting back up.

“We have men out searching,” Cullen nodded thoughtfully. His hand rubbed his stubbly chin. “We're having another situation which is hampering our efforts, however.”

“What now?” Astlyr felt annoyance prickling. It was always something.

“Snow,” Blackwall explained. “Ever since your horse came back it has been snowing. Not a problem at first, but it's been going non stop.”

“Caravans are having trouble getting to Skyhold,” Josephine spoke as she balanced her writing board on her knees, checking over her notes. “My contacts have been slow to arrive as well. We are currently somewhat cut off.”

“We're not completely cut off yet,” Cullen raised a hand when Astlyr moved as if to rise. “People can still get in and out, but it is challenging, and Skyhold wasn't quite...winterized. A few of the disused rooms have snow in them, and we are finding that the outer rooms are too cold for habitation, but we're figuring it out. Just growing pains from our first winter here.”

Astlyr sighed. She could see the worry on the tough warrior's face, though he tried not to show it. She saw him shoot Cole a warning look. “And I imagine it is difficult to track anyone with all this fresh fall,” she filled in.

“Exactly.” Cullen nodded.

“What about the big fuck-off monster?” asked Sera. “What happened? Did it just think you were dead and wander away to have a little nap someplace? Or maybe you did enough damage that it left to go die, yeah? Either way, hard to miss, right?”

“We're not certain what happened to the creature that attacked you,” Josephine admitted. “Did you see it leave?”

“No,” Astlyr admitted, “I passed out.” She wasn't certain if she wanted to tell them about the green magic that had protected Dorian and herself. She glanced down at her palm where the anchor was as uninteresting as ever. However, as she flexed her fingers, she felt a prickle. Like she had burned her palm. This was new. When she closed a rift the pain usually subsided at once.

“You said you freed the creature by using your mark?” Vivienne asked, noticing that Astlyr was studying her hand.

“My mark, and Solas' magic. He said that the anchor is many things. This time it as though it was draining energy from me. It doesn't feel like that when I close a rift,” she clarified.

“That right there,” Sera folded her arms, “is when you stop doing whatever you're doing. When the freaky magic starts stealing your energy.”

“I've never seen my mark do anything but open and close rifts,” Astlyr scrutinized the anchor. It looked like the outline of a veil tear, etched in dark green on her skin. “He said it runs through me. It's connected to every part of me. I always wondered why Coryphius didn't just lop my hand off back in Haven. If he wanted it, why not take it? I guess he couldn't.”

“Seems so,” Vivienne stood back, tall and elegant as ever. Even her night attire was nicer than anything Astlyr owned.

“You said that the broken orb was there too?” Josie asked, quill pen now poised over paper.

“Yes,” Astlyr nodded. “I think he would have used that instead of me, if it hadn't shattered.”

“All this magic,” Sera rolled her eyes expressively. “Doesn't anyone just do things any more?”

No one bothered to answer her as they all fell silent, pondering. Finally Cullen spoke, “Well, it should not be difficult to locate a creature of the size you fought. We'll find it eventually.”

“It was a person before, yeah? Maybe it's a person again,” Sera suggested.

“That's not how demons work,” Varric answered her. “And believe me, I've seen plenty. They never go back to being people.”

“Maybe it wasn't a demon.” Sera pouted out her lower jaw. “Maybe it was a dragon-person like what's-her-boobs. The one who turned into a dragon in that final fight with Cory.”

“Morrigan?” Cullen raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Her,” Sera waved a dismissive hand. She seemingly deemed names of more than two syllables not worth her time.

“I suppose it is possible,” Josephine agreed. “We could have someone draw a picture based on the man you saw before he turned into the...whatever he turned into.”

“I'm not sure if I can recall him very well,” Astlyr admitted. “I only saw him for a minute or two, and after that my attention was distracted by trying not to get eaten or stomped on.”

“When the rest of our friends recover, they can help,” Josephine said, her voice hopeful. Obviously she thought her idea a good one.

“They all we need to do is get out past all this snow to show people the picture,” Blackwall pointed out, a little glumly. “Though I was thinking of trying to get some men together to check the surrounding area. I know of people whose homes are in bits. They are not ready for such an aggressive early winter. I could take some of your pictures then.”

“Alright,” Astlyr yawned, “I think we have a basic plan. Now, my brain is going to melt out my ears if we keep talking so late. Get some sleep everyone. We'll discuss this further in the morning.”

Nodding and stretching the group dispersed. Even Cole moved away to sit on a bed, injured leg stretched in front of him, the book Astlyr had given him open in his lap. As Cullen rose stiffly from his chair to follow the others Astlyr got his attention. “Cullen,” she searched his weary features. “Have you slept?”

He gave a dry chuckle and sat back down with a graceless motion. He reached up a hand and massaged his temples. “A little.”

“I know how you are,” Astlyr shook her head in dismay. “With all that's been going on you've been insisting on micromanaging everything. You need to delegate more. Like me. I delegate to you,” she smirked, hoping he would smile. She was rewarded only with a slight upturn of his lips.

“I've had a few rough lyrium nights,” he said, dismissive.

“Cullen. Look at me.” He lifted his head, hazel eyes meeting her green. “You need to rest, alright? We're back, and we're not going to die, and anyway Skyhold is covered in snow. I give you permission to hide out in my room if you like. I won't be using it for a few days,” she nodded towards herself, “I can't even sit up in a bed without help, let alone climb stairs.”

Cullen gave her a small chuckle, still gazing at her with a kind of calmness that had not been on his face before. “Perhaps I will.”

“No,” she said, her lip quirking in a half grin, “no 'perhaps'. It's an order. Yes. An order from your Inquisitor. I'm still the big dog around here right? I order you to hide out and rest.”

“Yes ma'am,” he said in a quiet tone, making a playful salute with his good arm. He stood slowly, no longer looking quite as beaten down. He met her eyes again before leaving the room and gave her a nod. “Good sleep, my friend.”

She nodded back as he turned and departed. Astlyr heaved a sigh. Cole looked up from his book. “He's afraid. Eyes are always on him. Faces turned up and waiting, wanting, watching for orders. He tells them how to survive, but he's not certain how to himself.”

“I know,” Astlyr said, heart feeling heavy.

“You and he are afraid of the same thing,” Cole's voice was matter-of-fact. “Everyone else thinks you have already lived up to expectations.” Astlyr could just make out his drawn smile from across the room.

“Maybe,” she chuckled. “But new expectations are always being made. Cole, can you help Cullen sleep with your power?”

“Yes, but he has asked me not to do that sort of thing with him,” Cole seemed a little upset. “I do not understand when people ask me not to help them. People here at Skyhold see me, and remember me, so I cannot help them as easily.”

“Your friends see and remember you,” Astlyr's voice was soft. “I think that's a good thing.”

“It is,” Cole nodded, his hat flopping. “But I do not understand why some of my friends wish to feel pain when I could help them.”

Astlyr considered this for a moment. “You often do little things to help people overcome their pain on their own. Perhaps some of us like to do those little things for ourselves.”

Cole nodded again, turning back to his book. She was uncertain if he understood, or had decided this topic too confusing to continue. She looked down at her arms. Two useless hunks of flesh and shattered bone. She knew they would heal, but they could never do it fast enough to please her. She had to get out of bed and start seeing to Skyhold. She couldn't let Cullen handle things on his own, as he clearly had been. Without her, without Cassandra, to aid him, the warrior would wear himself down to nothing.

“Astlyr,” a voice hissed to her.

She blinked, turning her head to see Dorian's dark eyes watching her. She took in a quick breath, surprised to see him awake. “Dorian?”

“Shh,” he urged her. “I don't want to be fussed over. I want to talk to you.” the mage said, furtively.

Astlyr carefully and painstakingly scooted to the edge of her bed to be nearer her friend. He did not move much, and she suspected he was in considerably more pain than herself, as she leaned her head to listen for his soft voice. She heard a quiet chuckle. “You look fantastic.”

She felt a natural smile flicker to her lips, “not as fantastic as you.”

“Oh good,” he heaved a sigh, grimacing, “because I feel like someone put me in a sack and dragged me behind a horse.”

“Well, you look it.”

“Astlyr,” his face grew serious again as he spoke, “am I crazy? I remember something right before we passed out. I said something stirring about a blaze of glory and then...”

“We grabbed each others hands,” Astlyr filled in, looking down at her hand on the bed.

“Right. And when we did, something happened. Maybe I was just hallucinating? I was in a considerable amount of pain, but somehow I felt as though an energy was passing from you into me. Not like lyrium. It was like something else. Something I have never experienced.”

“So I didn't imagine it either?” she felt relieved. “I think what happened with me and the mirror happened with us.”

“Yes, but it has never happened before that. I've never felt anything when I've stood beside you as you closed rifts,” Dorian muttered, clearly pondering. He made a frustrated sound, this hissed in air through his teeth and winced, “Have you figured out how to not breath? Because breathing is getting on my nerves,” he said, weakly.

“I healers could give you something,” Astlyr pointed out. “Not to stop you breathing,” she put in hastily. “Just to stop you hurting.”

“Those things always make me fuzzy,” he raised his hand fractionally to gesture towards his head. “I wanted to be clear while we talked about this. I've been a mage my whole life, and I've had the very best lyrium. The really pure shit that makes you a little bit high and you think you just might be able to take over the world. Never anything like what I felt when we were touching hands.”

“Maybe my touch is just that powerful,” Astlyr grinned.

“Oh hush, you,” Dorian scolded, “I am trying to be serious and I have the sarcastic qunari to talk to.

“I'm sorry,” Astlyr made a show to contorting her face into a mask of civility.

“No. That's worse,” Dorian smirked, “a well behaved qunari is almost as rare as sarcastic one.”

“So,” Astlyr said, thoughtful, “you've never felt power like the green stuff that we seemed to generate when we were holding hands. Alright. So let's try it again.” She carefully slid her splinted arm down to reach between the beds. She winced as pain shot up her limb, and hoped Cole had enough sense to leave them alone for the moment.

“Oh good,” Dorian eased his own hand towards hers, “nothing like a little experimenting with powerful magics when we're both beaten within an inch of our lives.”

“Just shut up and hold my hand,” she quipped, feeling her fingers interlace with his. His warm palm pressed against the anchor mark. Both lay as still as they could, watching their joined hands as though waiting for a fireworks show.

“How long do we hold hands before we decide this isn't working?” Dorian asked after a long moment of awkwardness.

Astlyr considered. “Maybe it matters what you're thinking about. With the archway Solas told me to concentrate on my task. Maybe we need to be think of the same thing. What was on your mind when we...did whatever we did.”

“I believe I was thinking: 'Oh Maker, oh maker, I'm going to die and I've never been in love.'” Dorian smirked.

“Hmmmm, as I recall I was thinking basically the same thing.”

“You've never been in love?” Dorian cocked his head slightly on his pillow, “what about Iron Bull?”

“Oh, I love Iron Bull, and the sex is fantastic,” she raised her eyebrows meaningfully and Dorian snorted, “But I don't think I'm in love with him.”

“I see,” Dorian's brows came together, “Erm, Astlyr, m'gel, if we are going to keep having this conversation can we stop awkwardly holding hands?”

“Oh, sorry. We seem to have a focus problem,” she chuckled, “alright, this time I'll concentrate on giving you energy and I suppose you should concentrate on receiving it.”

“Er, alright,” Dorian said, uncertainly.

Astlyr closed her eyes trying to convince her ever busy mind that it needed to buckle down to one subject and one subject only. Alright, mysterious powers. I need you to go to my friend Dorian over there. I command you to go. Please go? She opened one eye, hoping to see their clasped hands glowing green. No such luck, though one of the guards had noticed their attempts and was eying them confusedly. “Maybe we need to be closer to death. Do you suppose one of the guards would stab me with a dagger. Just a little?”

Dorian's eyes popped open and he glared at her. “Stop joking around,” he said, though he had obvious trouble keeping his smile under control. His mustache twitched comically.

The two let their hands fall away from each other. Astlyr sighed, painfully pulling her arm back up beside her on the bed. “Maybe I just don't have any energy to give you.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps other requirements must be met. It may be like one of those complicated spells that calls for material components. I always hated those. So much work for so little payoff.”

“If you say so,” Astlyr said, looking down at her hand, though she could barely make out her mark in the dimness.

“Alright,” Dorian sounded resigned, “now that we are finished with that experiment. Ouch!” he announced loudly. In seconds Cole had appeared at his side and was using his ability to lessen the mage's pain as two healers rushed to fussed over him. He gave Astlyr a meaningful smirk and she laughed.

~~~~~

Healing was a slow process. Not aided by Astlyr's natural affinity for being outdoors and moving. The healers were almost as fed up with her as they had been with Cole. The boy, for his part, seemed amused by her refusal to stay in bed when she had insisted that he do so.

“Inquisitor,” Audra pleaded for the third time that day, “The muscle of your leg was badly damaged. If you walk on it before it's ready you'll do yourself more harm. And would you stop using that broken arm? Blast it! You're never going to heal.”

Nights she walked in the Fade with the black wolf. The creature now seemed glued to her side. They had even ventured into some mountains one night in her dreams. A shadowy spirit lurked there, watchful. Fen'Harel sensed it at once and his fur bristled. Gleaming teeth were bared and the spirit slunk away as if ashamed. Often the wolf were nuzzle Astlyr's left hand, and her mark would spring to life, glowing the sickly green of Fade magic. When she woke, however, it was only a matter of moments before the memories of her nightly sojourns with the wolf god would slip from her again.

Astlyr had come to know the Myfanwy a bit better in her days in the infirmary. It seemed that the elivish woman has a skill with drawing, and soon Astlyr and her companions were describing the man they had seen to her so that she could make a sketch. Now if only they could any of them agree on what the elf who had transformed into a giant dragon-creature had looked like.

“Astlyr got the best view of him, I believe,” said Cassandra, wrinkling her proud nose as Myfanwy sketched and re-sketched.

“I'd like to remind you that I had head trauma,” Varric pointed out. “I can't be asked to remember things.”

Astlyr looked fondly from the warrior woman to the dwarf. When Cassandra had woken the morning after Astlyr had she had asked to speak with Astlyr almost at once. The qunari had been helped into a chair at her friend's bedside. “Inquisitor,” Cas sounded formal, and she looked as stern as possible for someone suffering from crush wounds. She also seemed to be having trouble finding the words she wanted. “Inquisitor...” she began again, brows coming together, “I... what I wanted to say to you was...Rrrrgh!” she made an aggravated sound then turned her head, “Cole, come here please,” she called to the spirit boy, who was helping one of the healers nearby.

“Yes, Cassandra?” Cole answered, setting down the bowl of herb infused water in which a healer had been soaking rags to lay across Iron Bull's brow. He teleported over to stand at Cas's other side.

“Please tell the Inquisitor what I wish to say,” Cassandra instructed him.

Cole nodded, concentrated for a moment, and tilted his chin up so Astlyr could see his eyes under his hat brim. “I broke formation. I should not have. It was stupid of me. I want to be certain it never happens again. I know I am better. I am disappointed in myself. Angry. Like bees in my mind. Swarming over and over that moment until I cannot forget. Leaving little footprints in the marmalade. I will not make that mistake again.”

“You went to protect Varric,” Astlyr pointed out, placing a hand on Cassandra's shoulder.

“It does not change the fact that I should have done as I was ordered,” Cas said, solemnly. “It was a battle and I am a soldier. I knew better.”

“Varric is my friend... and my responsibility,” Cole was speaking again. “I brought him here. Everything that happens to him after that is my fault. Any injury is my doing. I am to blame. I will take...take the blame always on myself.”

Cassandra flinched, “alright,” she said tightly, “that is enough, Cole. You were helpful.”

The boy nodded, though he looked worried. Clearly he could tell that she was not pleased with him any more.

Astlyr glanced up subtly towards Varric's bed. She felt certain she caught the flicker of his eyes snapping shut. She did not say anything as the dwarf did a passable job of looking asleep.

 

Now Astlyr passed her days in relative bordom. Josie made certain to stop in at least once every day to talk about what was going on with the rest of the world, at least what information she could get. The blizzard which had gripped SkyHold lasted for three days and when it finally abated. The task of highest import became that of digging out. The road to the Hinterlands below the mountains where SkyHold perched was rendered completely impassible by snow and ice. Some merchants had even become trapped at the fortress by the weather. From what Astlyr heard, they were vocal in their complaint about this, but actually seemed to be enjoying the vacation as they ate and drank at SkyHold's popular tavern.

Most days Cullen made a point to visit with his chess board. He would talk shop with Astlyr about the issues that they were having getting Skyhold up to snuff for the sudden winter. She gave what advice she could, though she felt woefully inexperienced.

Dorian routinely beat everyone at chess, while Cullen and Astlyr were evenly matched. “You could be better if you were more patient, my dear,” Vivienne told her once when the enchantress stopped in for a game.

“If I know one thing about Astlyr,” said Iron Bull, who was recovering slowly, his wounds having been the most severe, “it is that she is not a patient person.”

“Oh, thank you,” Astlyr rolled her eyes.

Everyone agreed that Cole was not allowed to play chess any more because he was able to predict their movement with accuracy. The boy merely shrugged, saying he enjoyed watching as much as playing.

Guardswoman Jones had her watch over the unconscious elf every night,and she would spend some time chatting with the Inquisitor. Astlyr enjoyed the woman's company immensely. Esther Jones had taken up a fascination with Astlyr hair, and the qunari would often let her braid it. “The color is so interesting. Like strands of snow.” Jones said, sitting crosslegged behind Astlyr, who sat at the edge of her bed. “I know most qunari have white hair, but I still find it so beautiful.”

Astlyr shrugged, “I suppose. I often felt that it was boring. No color, like other people's. I have heard that some of my people have black hair, but I've never seen it.” She didn't bother to clarify that this was because the only other qunari she had seen up close were her own parents and Iron Bull. Often she didn't even feel like a proper qunari at all.

“And it's so thick,” Jones went on, braiding skillfully. Astlyr had learned that Jones had five younger sisters and she had always been in charge of their appearance, which included seeing to their hair.

Astlyr glanced across the room to see Myfanwy watching and smiling. The elf's dark eyes shone in the low evening light from the fire and interspersed candles. 

“I have a few of the beads my mother always wore in her hair up in my room. Maybe I should go fetch them,” Astlyr offered the guardswoman.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Jones said.

A few of the nearby guards chuckled. Dorian, who was sitting up reading, glancing over the top of his book, “you really are portraying a hardened warrior tonight, m'gel.”

“Shut your mouth, that's an order,” Astlyr snapped in her best military bark. It would have done Cullen or Cassandra proud.

Dorian just laughed at her, eyes twinkling with mirth. Then he retreated back behind his reading as Astlyr loudly muttered things about what they did with insubordinate mages in the inquisition. Cole limped over to her. He still used the cane, but his leg was significantly improved. “I can go get the beads for you,” he offered.

Before he could teleport away Astlyr raised her hand in a forestalling motion. “No, no, Cole. I can manage. Me being down here in the infirmary is mostly just a formality anyway. Time to stretch the old legs a bit.”

“I don't want to see you using that arm,” Astlyr jumped. She hadn't even known that Audra was paying attention. The healer had seemingly been in conversation with Iron Bull.

“Of course,” Astlyr said, hurriedly, raising her eyebrows at Cole who gave her a fleeting smile before poofing away to join Audra.

Astlyr stood slowly, careful not to put much weight on her bad leg. If she was honest it barely twinged. Superior qunari healing ability and pain tolerance, she thought a little smugly as she limped from the room. She took her time through the darkened SkyHold, careful stairs to go slowly on the stairs to spare her injured limbs any stress. The place was quiet. Even in the main hall, where some people were still sleeping for warmth near the large fireplaces, which were designed to heat higher floors with their massive chimneys.

Astlyr peered into the darkness of her quarters and knew at once that she was not alone. Her instinct prickled for a moment, but she relaxed almost at once. There was a figure on her bed. She could just make out his golden hair in the moonlight from her tall windows. The fire he had lit was guttering in the hearth and his dayclothes were folded neatly on one of her chairs. She smiled as she tiptoed as best she could over to her dressing table. She had to admit to herself that one of her main reasons for continuing to sleep in the infirmary was so that Cullen could continue to use her room as his haven. It seemed clear that his men had not figured out that this was where he had been retreating to.

As she selected the hair beads from a special box on her dressing table she listened carefully to his breathing. Deep and peaceful. Good. She turned and began to limp out, but hesitated as she reached the stairs, hand poised on the railing. His face was turned towards her, washed with moonlight and she smiled at how restful he looked. She did not often get to see him without a hard line of tension between his eyebrows. For a moment she the urge to go to him and touch his face. She almost laughed at herself for the thought, and limped carefully out of the room.

~~~~~

The next day found Dorian and Astlyr sitting on the same bed facing one another, attempting to get the odd magical power to work again. “I really think this could be the answer to waking him up,” Dorian nodded in the direction of the slumbering elf. Their unconscious guest was beginning to look wan now. His cheeks becoming sunken. The healers did their best to feed him and keep him hydrated, but their methods were imperfect.

“Why would a god sleep so long to regain power if it will kill the body he's inhabiting?” Astlyr asked, pressing her palm to Dorians. She had stopped bothering to feel embarrassed as the others watched their awkward attempts.

“Remember that he doesn't need the body to be alive for it to function,” Cassandra pointed out. She was half watching them, and half reading one of Varric's latest books. Cole read over her shoulder, which she seemed to encourage, often asking him when he was ready to turn the page.

“I suppose,” Astlyr mused, “though being inside a dead bird didn't seem to be good for him. I wonder if a dead person is the same.”

Myfanwy had lifted her head from her drawing and was looking at Astlyr with a deep sadness. “Please do not let him die,” she said, her voice very small and quiet.

“What was that, Puppy?” Varric was stretched out on his bed, fingers laced behind his head as he relaxed. He had given the elven woman one of his fond nicknames. At first she had been insulted, but one of the guards explained that being given a nickname by Varric was actually a sign that she was seen as an ally by the group.

Myfanwy's face was suddenly drawn. “I...I know that there is little of my brother left inside this body,” she cleared her throat.

“Do you want me to help?” asked Cole, gently.

“No,” the elf waved him off with a tentative motion, “I can speak for myself. She swallowed and tried again. “If the body dies, whatever is left of my brother...his memories, which the god might use, may be lost. I do not wish to lose whatever of Daveth remains. I know this is selfish,” she hung her head.

“Puppy,” Varric stood up and crossed to her, clearly shocking her as he wrapped her in a hug. “No one wants you to have to give that up either. Which is why the Inquisitor and her friends are working hard to wake him.”

Myfanwy bit her lip as she allowed herself to be embraced by the dwarf. Astlyr could see anger behind the elf's eyes and she saw Cole flinch from across the room. She knew that the woman was angry at her for not using the idol to wake 'Fen'Harel'. She felt uncertain herself. Perhaps she should have tried it. There was a reasonable chance that it would not have killed any good spirits. She glanced at Cole, taking in his slumped shoulders, his expression sadder than usual. He could feel the conflicting worries and fears, and there was no way to help everyone in the room. A look of pain crossed his face and he withdrew, hugging himself.

Astlyr felt her temper flare. She pulled her hand away from Dorian's a rose with a motion that was just a little too quick. Pain sliced up her leg, but she ignored it, limping over to stand at the bedside of the elf.

“What are you thinking, Kadan?” Iron Bull asked. He was propped up with many pillows and had appeared to be dozing.

Astlyr didn't answer, but she felt her temper still flaring. Anger with herself, and her lack of resolve. Without thought she pressed her left palm, perhaps a bit too firmly, onto the chest of the unconscious elf. Pain lanced up her broken arm and she felt the air huff from the supposed god's chest with her motion. Myfanwy tensed, clearly using to a lot of restraint to keep herself from pulling Astlyr away.

Astlyr ground her teeth, glaring down at the slumbering figure. “Listen here, pal. We're had about enough of this! If you're a god, you can bloody wake up and deal with whatever it is you gods have to deal with, and you can leave me and friends alone if it's all the same. So, wake the fuck up!”

To everyone's shock, not the least of which Astlyr's, a bright green light sprang to life from beneath her hand. Tendrils of emerald electricity jumped and sparked from between her fingers. She jerked back in surprise, but found, as it had been with the stone prison from which they had freed the dragon-man, she could not remove her hand. Her friends and the guards moved closer.

“Astlyr?” Dorian asked, tentatively.

“Yes?” she spoke between gritted teeth. She could feel the pull. Her energy being drawn from her and towards the man on the bed.

“How are you doing that?”

“I have no idea,” she ground out. She already felt breathless, as if she had gone for a good run. The elf was drawing her energy from her with much more speed than the stone doorway had. Seconds later her legs felt weary and she had to fight to remain standing. The man did not move as the green light from her hand washed over him, sparking and coiling, splashing both their faces with an emerald glow.

“Can we make it stop?” Cole asked, appearing beside Astlyr. She felt the boy grip her good arm, helping her stand. He placed her hand on his shoulder so she could use him to prop herself up, though she was careful not to put too much weight on him because of his leg.

Then someone else stepped in, pulling Astlyr's arm over a slender shoulder. It was Myfanwy, “what can we do?”

“I don't know,” Astlyr managed. Because of her awkward position leaning over the man it was all she could do not to overbalance and fall forward onto him. Myfanway was clearly giving it her best effort to keep the much taller and heavier Astlyr upright. A guard moved closer and stood on the other side of the bed, extending a hand to Astlyr's shoulder, he helped prop her upright. She bit back a sound of annoyance. The greedy fucker was taking all her energy. It felt as though she had not eaten in days. She knew she was visibly shaking. She could feel her friends drawing near, uncertain and worried. And still the elf pull more strength from her. She tried to take her hand away and only succeeded in making her arm pound with pain. “Fen'Harel,” her voice was small and strangled. “Stop...please.”

Her hand was released and she toppled to the floor, almost landing on Myfanwy. She scrambled to her hands and knees, aided by Cole and a few more of the guards. Then she heard the familiar sound of swords being drawn and felt the crackle of magic being readied. She pulled herself to her knees using the bed and peered at the elf on the mattress. He twitched, then spasmed, back arching, hands grappling with the sheets. He made a strangled sound, then went limp. Finally, as she watched, his eyes opened and he blinked slowly.

Astlyr felt herself being pulled backwards. Two guards had her under her arms and were attempting to get her clear. “No. Wait,” she gasped as the elf gazed around himself with only his eyes.

Then he turned his head towards her, and she met his gaze. Blue. His eyes were blue, just like the wolf in her dreams. Just like... He spoke. Something in elvish she could not understand. His words seemed mumbled. Garbled, even for a language she didn't speak. Astlyr looked to Myfanwy, who was standing back, mouth agape. A single tear left a trail down the elvish woman's fair cheek. “What did he say?” Astlyr asked.

“I don't know,” Myfanwy admitted. “It's not the language my people speak. Some sounds are the same, but...”

“Mmmm,” the man on the bed seemed to be trying again. His eyes locked on Astlyr, brow tight with concentration or pain, she wasn't certain which. “Mmmm-my fr-friend.” he managed to croak. Astlyr was positive this time, and she could tell by the gasps of surprise that she heard from her friends, that he was indeed spoken with the voice of Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone was so quiet after the last chapter! Were you all worried I'd killed off your favorite characters? Don't worry! Now we know they're okay! ;)  
> So...he's awake! What sort of tale will he tell...with Solas' voice!?  
> Keep in mind my goal with this story is to make it seem as though this could happen after the end of the game (however unlikely). So, as always, if anything contradicts actual canon feel free to let me know! :D  
> In other news, I decided that a few grey wardens stuck around instead of all going to do whatever they were doing at the end of the game (I can't remember LOL)  
> So as always, feel free to comment with any thoughts, etc. PS. Your comments give me warm fuzzies of joy! Talk to me, I'm so alone! ;)  
> See you all next week!  
> Next: 2/5/15


	9. What Pride Hath Wroght

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The chapter you have (probably) all been waiting for! Man, I have tweaked and re-tweaked this chapter more than any other (and it is probably still full of errors lol). I start to get a bit more groovy with the lore in this one. Hopefully everyone will like where I take it! Enjoy!
> 
> Random translation: "M'gel" (said by Dorian in previous chapter) Translation: "my girl". His pet name for Astlyr. My husband says that he had no idea, so I figured I better explain that one ;) ;)

Part 9  
What Pride Hath Wrought

Astlyr was sitting on the floor, staring. Her mouth was slightly ajar, and her brain felt as though someone had replaced it with a sponge. It was too slow to respond to the words of the man on the bed. He had not taken his eyes from her baffled face, though his expression had grown more concerned. Uncertain. Finally he did look away and his eyes grew wide as he took in the swords and magic aimed at him.

“Go get Cullen,” Astlyr heard Cassandra order one of the healers.

“Who-”Astlyr was having trouble forming words. Her thoughts seemed to have been locked down, as well as all her energy stolen, by the elf on the bed. He spoke again, in the garbled elvish, his lips moving quickly, his expression one of fear.

“Who the fuck are you?” Astlyr growled. Far more guttural and feral than she would have liked.

He looked back at her now, and a tear ran from his eye and down the side of his face towards his ear. “I am called...what am I called?”

“They curse me, the people,” Cole was speaking. Astlyr glanced at him to see a look of intensity on his wan face. “They say I am a murderer, but I am not. I tried. I tried to help them. They asked me and I acted. I made a mistake and almost killed the world. The people use my name to curse. They spit at my image and I frighten their children. 'Eat your dinner or the wolf will get you.' 'Stay in the camp or the wolf will find you. I am alone. So utterly alone. Hollow, howling, haunted, hunted, hurting. Why?” Cole hugged himself, shoulders hunched, seeming almost to collapse in on himself. “Oh Astlyr, he is so sad,” the boy's voice had a quaver to it. “And there is so much. I cannot even make him forget because there is too much!”

“My lord?” Myfanwy spoke, stepping closer. “I am here to serve you. What can I do?”

The man did not speak, but blinked at Astlyr a few times. “You are the dragon's daughter,” he said after a long moment, seeming to have come to some kind of conclusion. “I remember you.”

“The who now?” Varric asked, eyebrow raised.

“I'm Astlyr,” the qunari said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could. Trying to sound less dangerous than the last time she had spoken. She was still feeling annoyed at having so much of her energy stolen.

“Astlyr. Yes. Astlyr Adaar. Your name means...strong weapon.” he said, still thoughtful. His eyes looked less focused.

“If you say so,” Astlyr sighed, sitting back on her heels. “But who are you?”

“I am...” the man hesitated again, his brow furrowed, “I am called Daveth. No. I was called Daveth. And I think...was I flying at one point?”

Astlyr almost chuckled. Now he was beginning to sound like Solas in more than just voice. “You inhabited a dead bird.”

“Interesting,” the man exhaled.

Astlyr raised her good arm, signaling the guards and mages to lower their weapons, though most did not sheath their blades.

“Would anyone like to explain why he sounds like Chuckles?” Varric asked.

“I know you, child of the Stone,” the man met Varric's eyes. He looked around again, taking in the other faces, “and you,” his gaze held Cassandra's for a long moment.

“Do you?” the woman asked. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, obviously ignoring any pain she must have been in.

“Are you a spirit?” asked Dorian, curiously.

“I do not believe so,” the man began to move carefully. The guards aimed weapons at him again, and Astlyr let them. The elf pushed himself clumsily upright to lean against the headboard of the bed. That accomplished he spent a moment breathing heavily, as though the action was extremely wearying. “There is no need for all of these weapons,” he said between panting breaths. “I intend you no harm.”

“Forgive us if we don't feel reassured,” Dorian said, eyebrow raised.

“My lord,” Myfanwy tried again, this time sitting at the end of the bed, “is there anything that you need?”

“Food?” The man said, his expression hopeful.

“He's awake?” Cullen strode into the room and took in the scene.

“Awake and strange,” said Varric, folding his arms.

“Why is Astlyr on the floor?” the commander asked urgently.

“Don't worry, Cullen” Cassandra stopped him with her words as he strode purposefully towards the qunari. “We'll sort that out in a moment. Right now she seems to be communing with...whoever this is.”

“Alright,” with an effort Astlyr pulled herself up to sit on the bed before Cullen could grow more concerned. The elf pulled his legs out of her way. “Are you a god or aren't you? We were told that you might be the elven god Fen'Harel. Is this true?”

“Like he would tell us the truth,” she heard Varric grumble from behind her.

“I am the one called Fen'Harel,” the man admitted, though his expression was uncertain. “Perhaps I was not supposed to tell you that. The last time you saw me, you called me Solas because that was the name of the body I inhabited. Would you like to call me Daveth now?”

Astlyr was struck speechless for a long moment. As was everyone else, judging by the silence that reigned in the infirmary. “What?” Astlyr's question was more of an exhalation of breath than anything.

The elf seemed confused, “would you like to call me Daveth?”

“No,” Astlyr waved away his words like a pesky gnat, “what did you say about Solas?”

“I was called Solas. Did you call me Solas? It sounds right when you say it, so you must have,” he shook his head slightly, and his dark curls fell in his eyes. He blinked, “Hair. It has been a long time.”

“No,” Astlyr felt her lip curl. “You're not Solas. I saw Solas while you were here, laying in that bed and taking up space. What are you?” her voice was rising again, sounding more angry. “Are you able to take thoughts from my mind? Memories? Because I have encountered demons like you before and they didn't last long.”

Cole stepped forward slightly, hand pressed to his chest, a tense look in his eyes. “I don't think he is a demon. Demons feel empty. They have nothing left inside them but shadow. He is full of memories. Of sadness. He doesn't sing thoughts like death. Demons don't know any other song.”

“Oh well, if he doesn't feel demon-y,” Varric snarked.

“Hush,” Astlyr's order was firmer than she intended, though it had the desired effect. “I know you cannot be Solas, because I saw Solas. I cannot be certain that you are a god either. What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

The elven man seemed to consider her for a long moment. “Dream,” he said, finally.

“What?” Cullen leaned forward as though he had heard incorrectly.

Myfanwy broke through the confused moment to hand 'Fen'Harel' a piece of bread from the basket that the kitchen always sent up for those in the infirmary. The man took and and bit greedily, though he kept his eyes focused on Astlyr's. She found it difficult to continue to meet his gaze. It was alarming how much she felt that she knew those eyes.

Audra the healer stepped forward, almost timidly, which was rare for her. “May I examine him?” she asked.

Astlyr moved slightly, and with some difficulty, to make room. The woman felt the elf's pulse and checked his eyes. She even had him open his mouth so she could look at his throat. Satisfied, she stood back. “As I would have suspected. He's a bit dehydrated and under nourished, but well enough.”

The elf polished off the bread Myfanwy had given him and looked eager for more. Myfanwy handed him a cup of water next, which he drank all at once, leaving some dripping down his chin. 

“Alright, as you can see, we mean you no harm. In fact, quite the opposite,” Astlyr said, beginning to feel a little calmer herself. Not many demons she had seen could remain as passive as this man when surrounded by so many weapons, but then again perhaps they were merely under its thrall.

“I do not think it is a demon,” Cole reassured her, having obviously sensed her continued concerns on the subject.

“I can believe you are a spirit,” Astlyr pressed on. “We welcome friendly spirits,” she gestured towards Cole. “I may even be convinced that you are a god...or at least believe yourself to be one. I've met a few of those too. I even met a woman claiming my be Mythal, which I am told is another eleven deity,” she glanced at Myfanwy for confirmation. “Where I begin to have trouble is when you also claim to be a friend of mine, whom I recently saw with my own eyes.”

The supposed Fen'Harel sighed deeply. “Yes. Mythal. We will speak of her later. But please, believe that I am your friend, Astlyr. The name Solas was the name of the man whose body I inhabited. Just as I inhabit the one called Daveth now. It is very confusing, I understand, which I why I do not tell people of it. This situation necessitates me to reveal far more than I would like.” He was becoming more confident with his speech, Astlyr noticed. The confused expression was fading from his face. “If you would dream, I could meet you and explain in a far more satisfying way.”

“Dream?” Astlyr rasied an eyebrow. “You mean go into the Fade?”

“Yes,” the man dipped his head in a gesture that reminded Astlyr of an animal.

“Oh, I really don't think so,” Dorian spoke up. “If this person is a demon the Fade is the perfect place to trap and kill you. He's asking you to serve yourself to him on a platter.”

“That will not being happening,” Cullen put in, his eyes steely.

“You do not trust me. I understand,” said the man, not lowering his eyes. “It is the best way.”

“Dorian, could you wake me magically if needed?” Astlyr turned to her friend.

Everyone in the room, including the guards, scoffed vocally. “You can't be serious, Kadan,” Iron Bull's voice was the loudest.

“I am,” she felt the fingers of her good hand tighten into a fist. “Cole, you can keep an eye on my emotional state while I sleep and Dorian, you can wake me up if Cole says so.”

“And if the demon, which we can already gather is highly manipulative, convinces you to be happy about having your soul eaten?” Dorian folded his arms. “No. I won't allow you to do this.”

“Dorian,” she turned fully around to face her friend. He was standing beside his bed, hand clasped over the wound in his side. A healer hovered nearby but seemed afraid to try to make him sit. Astlyr met his dark eyes. “I am going to fall asleep sometime and when I do I suspect he will be able to find me there. We may as well do it this way, with many precautions in place.”

“Perhaps we should fetch Morrigan. Or Vivienne,” Audra said, uncertainly. “Perhaps their magics...”

Dorian bristled, “My magic would do as well, or better, than theirs. Besides, you know that Vivienne would have you declared insane for even considering this, and petition to remove you from the status of Inquisitor. I'm half way there myself.”

“Perhaps Morrigan would know more about this elven god business,” Cassandra pointed out.  
Astlyr chewed her lip. She was hurting her friends and she hated it. She turned to Cole, who was standing in the shadows, his whole body tense. “What do you think, Cole?”

“Not a demon,” Cole shook his head, but he kept his face turned down, obscured by his hat. “Demons chafe when they meet me. He has not had any dark thoughts of me. His pain is older. Broader and bigger. He is very old, but not a demon. No. I don't think so.”

“Would you watch over my thoughts and emotions while I dream with him?” Astlyr asked, wishing he would meet her eyes.

“It is dangerous to walk in dreams, Astlyr,” he said. “But I could follow you.”

“You...of course,” she snapped his fingers and winced, “Right! As a spirit you could follow me into the Fade to see.”

“Yes.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.” Cole's shoulders did not lose any of their tension,

“What about it?” she asked her friends. “What if Cole dreams with us?”

“I'm just going on record as saying this is an extremely bad idea,” said Dorian, easing himself down to sit on his bed again.

“But you'll help?” Astlyr asked, standing slowly. She found that some of her strength had returned and she was able to cross to her friend and sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“If you're determined to do this, I of course I'll help,” he sighed, leaning against her. “I won't like it, but I won't abandon you to the Fade with a potential demon and only little Cole for protection.”

Cole did not seem insulted by this, though very little seemed to bother him in that way. Instead he stood quietly, touching the amulet he wore which prevented him from being corrupted by man or demon.

“You really want to do this?” Cassandra asked, dark eyes showing her concern.

“Want to? No,” Astlyr admitted, “but I feel that I should. We need to get to the bottom of this demon or god issue. If he does turn out to be evil, well, we'll do our best to fight it, as we always have.”

Varric shook his head, “sometimes I think you're more than a little insane, Pointy.”

Astlyr chuckled, “Bull?” she asked, meeting her lover's gaze.

He heaved a sigh which made him wince, “I really don't like the idea of you going in there. I hate the Fade and I haven't kept that a secret, but if anyone can handle It, it's you. You've been in there in the flesh a couple of times, how bad can dreaming there be?”

“Bad,” Cullen said, his voice low. He wouldn't look at Astlyr.

“Alright,” Astlyr sighed and glanced at the elf on the bed. He was watching her with bright eyes which seemed to see deeply into her mind. She wished that he would stop. “We'll try this dreaming thing. One sign of trouble, you should know that my people will kill us both, without hesitation.” This was a lie and she knew it. Certainly they would not hesitate to murder the elf should he show any signs of demon behavior, but she knew they would be slower to kill her. She tried not to think about it.

Astlyr stood and moved back towards her own bed. Cullen crossed to her with quick steps, grasping her upper arm a bit too hard. He leaned into her, whispering fiercely, “Astlyr, don't do this. You have no idea what demons can do. What you might be dealing with.”

“I've faced demons before. I've been in the Fade in person twice,” she felt a cold bitterness rise in her throat, “can you say the same?”

“I cannot,” he hissed, his fingers digging into the hard muscle of her bicep. At least he was holding her good arm, she thought wryly. “But I have dealt with demons, and you know that, and it almost...it almost broke my mind. You're strong Astlyr, but if you go into a demon's realm it could destroy your mind, not your body.”

Astlyr reached up and loosened his fingers from her arm with a grimace. “Your point is taken, Cullen, but I have to try this.”

“Find another way,” he snarled. She had not seen him like this since she spoken to him of his lyrium addiction months before.

She felt the urge to push him away from herself, but she managed to restrain her temper. She didn't have the energy to fight with her dear friend in that moment. “We can discuss my stupidity when I wake up,” she said, keeping her voice low, her words for him alone. “You can berate me to your heart's content. But right now, I need to find out. If I don't, we'll be treading in a dark room forever, never certain if our next step will be onto a blade.”

Cullen said nothing, but dropped his hand from her arm. His gold flecked, hazel eyes flicked up to meet hers then moved to examine the floor as he stepped back from her. For the briefest moment she felt abandoned. Like a boat set adrift. She shook off the feeling with annoyance and lay down on her infirmary bed.

Cole walked over and climbed onto the bed as well, sitting cross legged at the foot, the small of his back against the low footboard. He folded his hands in his lap, watching her from beneath his hat rim. She knew he had sensed every negative emotion flooding from Cullen and herself, and was grateful to him for saying nothing. She knew that it could be difficult for him not to express what he could sense strongly. He must have detected her gratitude because the quickest of smiles quirked one corner of his mouth before vanishing like a moth on a breeze.

“Alright,” Astlyr arranged herself comfortably, “How do we do this? I just go to sleep and I'm in the Fade?” She knew that the Fade was where she had been spending many of her nights of late.

“I believe so,” said the self proclaimed Dread Wolf.

Cole merely closed his eyes, his face becoming passive and meditative. Astlyr shook her head, if only it was that easy for her. “Dorian, would you put a sleep spell on me?” she asked.

The other mages were already moving about at the Tevinter mage's instructions. Laying down complicated wards on the floor around her bed and that of the elf. Myfanwy and the healers stood back, looking uneasy. One of the guards was a templar, and his expression matched Cullen's in dark severity. Dorian raised an arm towards Astlyr from where he lay. “You're absolutely certain this is what you want?” he asked, hand poised to cast.

“Yes,” she said, firmly.

Dorian mumbled a word, twisting his hand slightly, and a thin purple magic slithered from his fingertips. It moved across the room like smoke and settled on Astlyr's brow. It felt warm, almost pleasant. She had the briefest feeling of tumbling backwards and then she was surrounded in green. The bright, unnatural green of the Fade.

This time she seemed to be in a Fade approximation of the infirmary. There were beds, of a sort, though some were twisted and distorted. Her friends were missing from the room, and on the hearth a fire blazed an unhealthy emerald color. It alternated between burning low and bursting past the bricks to lap at the hearth. A pitcher of greenish water floated past Astlyr's head and she batted it away. She looked down at herself. She was wearing the same, unusual garb she always seemed to be wearing in her dreams these days. Her broken arm felt whole and strong as ever. Her leg no longer throbbed with its dull ache. She flexed her limbs and smiled.

Across from her, already up and moving around, was Cole. She blinked. The boy wore a white, loose shirt and simple tan breeches. His feet were bare. His hat was gone. He head was tilted back, as though he were enjoying the feeling of sunlight on his skin, and he looked healthy. More so than she had ever seen him. His usual deathly pallor was gone from his face, and the dark circles had vanished from under his eyes as though they had never been. There was a rosy quality to his cheeks, and a vitality to his whole being. His hair was swept back from his eyes and glowed a startling gold. He turned to face her and smiled. The first full, real smile she had seen from him. It could light up your soul.

“Cole,” she said, her voice taking on a strange echo in the Fade. “You look fantastic! How do you feel?”

“It is interesting to be back here,” he said, looking at his hands. “I have not been here like this in a long time. When we went last time I had my body with me. Now, in this moment, I am only spirit.”

“Well, you look great,” she gave him a big smile, which he returned. Then a thought struck her with a pang of sadness, “are you meant to be here, Cole? Meant to be in the Fade?”

“I am a spirit,” he shrugged, “I am not meant to be anywhere. I am different here. I am still Compassion, but here I feel less rooted. Like I could go in a million directions at once.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

He turned to face her, youthful features once again startling her with their vitality, “No,” he said with finality. “Here there is no Skyhold. No friends. I am a wisp. An idea. Not a person. I have little value here. I cannot help here. I merely exist here.”

“Ar lasa mala revas” A new voice spoke.

Astlyr looked to see her wolf padding towards them. His bushy tail was wagging happily and his eyes were bright and merry. Was it her imagination, or did he look less skinny than before? As though some fat and muscle had found their way onto his sleek body? Cole took in the wolf, and his words, “if this is freedom, then I do not want it,” the boy said, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever.

The wolf stopped before Astlyr, ears pricked forward, attentive, “greetings, my friend,” he said, though he did not move his canine lips.

“You can speak now,” Astlyr pointed out, “and don't think I haven't noticed whose voice you're using, Fen'Harel.”

“Ah, yes,” the wolf dipped his head. “Perhaps this would help,” he transformed then, taking on a form she knew well, and one that made her hackles rise.

“Stop that,” she snapped.

“I am sorry,” Fen'Harel said. He had taken on the appearance of Solas, complete with disarming eyes and submissive posture. He even held Solas' staff the way the elven mage had always done. More as a walking stick than for use with casting magic. “Daveth's form then?” he transformed once more, now taking on the shape of Myfanwy's brother. He stood straighter, though he still leaned casually on a staff.

“How many forms do you have?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“Many,” Fen'Harel said, sounding sad. “But only one voice. I am sorry if hearing it is painful for you.”

“It's confusing for me,” Astlyr explained.

Cole strode over to stand beside Astlyr, watching quietly. She leaned down to her spirit friend, “does he seem like a demon to you?” she asked in a whisper.

Cole shook his head, his shimmering golden hair falling into his eyes at last. “I have encountered many demons and he does not feel like any of them. He also does not feel like a spirit.”

“Because I am not,” Fen'Harel folded his arms. “A spirit embodies one quality. One emotion. I am far more. I am a god.”

Astlyr snorted, then tried to regain her composure hurriedly. “I'm sorry. As I said, I've met people claiming to be gods before. They all turned out to be wrong.”

Fen'Harel did not seem offended. This was admittedly different from the other “gods” she had encountered, who seemed puffed up with self glorification and egos the size of the Frostback Mountains. “I am not a spirit, neither am I a demon. What does that leave?” the Dread Wolf asked with a tilt of his head that was decidedly animal-like.

“I am not a spirit. I am not a demon. What does that leave?” Astlyr stared down the elf.

“That is true,” Fen'Harel looked down, seeming taken with a sudden melancholy. He transformed again, this time into someone Astlyr had never seen. Tall, though still clearly elvish. He was lean, sharp featured, with high cheekbones and an angular jaw. He wore garb that reminded Astlyr of what the strange elves had worn in the Temple of Mythal. He had fiery red hair which fell in messy curls, tighter than Daveth's, to his shoulders. He had a trim beard and arched brows. There were thin wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his high forehead, which looked to Astlyr as though they had been caused by laughter rather than worry. “This-” he held out his hands before him, as though seeing them anew, “was my first form. I will admit, my memories of those days are hazy and only grow more distant with each new body I take, but I can recall The People. I can recall the days of sun and plenty.”

“The People?” Astlyr asked, moving about the Fade room a bit, prodding at one of the beds. It dodged out of her way. She almost laughed.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel's expression became hard. “The People prospered. Or at least most of them did. Some were subjugated,” his forehead creased as though he was struggling to remember something. He reached up to touch his temple with a slender, long fingered hand. He staggered, catching himself on a twisted table. “No...that's not right. Is it? I can't remember what is her and what is me. She took so much.”

“What's going on?” Astlyr questioned, staying Cole with an arm as the spirit moved as if to help the 'god'.

“My memories have been damaged,” he looked up at her with eyes that were still that same, penetrating blue. “I can remember some things with certainty and then they twist and fade. Ach!” he made a frustrated sound. “I was better before. I was better when I was him.”

“Him who?”

“The one you called Solas.”

“You claim you were Solas,” she was still very dubious. “Who was he before you came along?” Astlyr tested one of the beds for flightiness before she sat down, crossing her legs and settling in for a long talk.

“Just as Daveth had a full life before me, so had the one called Solas,” Fen'Harel walked over and sat on the bed facing her with deliberate motions. “I can recall him most clearly. I had no body then. I had just...I had recently woken from a slumber. Why was I asleep?” he shook his head, red hair falling over his face as he rested it in his hands. “Was I injured? I can't remember,” he admitted. “When I wakened I needed a new host, but the host must be willing. I believe I was inside a rat for a while. Very obliging, rats, but short lived. Then I found Solas. A man with no people. No family. His clan had shunned him at a young age because he was different. He had greater control and understanding of the Fade than any of the mages they had seen. Of course, he grew solitary and proud, and believed himself capable of anything when it came to the Fade and spirits. He thought himself superior and he got himself into trouble because of it. He would have died in the Fade, but I found him. I explained who I was, and what I was offering. He gave his body to me.”

“Just like that?” Astlyr questioned.

“Very bad things can happen in the Fade,” Cole said, quietly. He was still standing beside her, watchful.

“I caught him in a moment of desperation, I will admit,” Fen'Harel said, lifting his head from the cage of his long fingers and meeting Astlyr's gaze again.

“So you, the wolf god of the elves, woke up from some kind of slumber and found yourself a body, which was Solas?” Astlyr clarified, eyebrow raised.

“Yes.”

“If I believe your story, and I'm not claiming I do,” Astlyr pondered, “does that mean all this time I was friends with a god?”

“And still are, I hope,” he said. His expression so open and genuine that she believed this at least. “Even gods need friends.”

Astlyr folded her arms, still exceedingly dubious. “Well, Fen'Harel, how is it you are you here, and in the body of Myfanwy's brother, when I saw Solas about a week ago, very much alive?”

“Because of Mythal,” Fen'Harel said, his voice pained. “I will tell you of her in a moment. I wish to explain about Solas.”

“Alright,” Astlyr sighed. She was growing more and more certain that the man before her was not a demon, but she still had no idea what he truly was. She was uncertain about his claims to godhood, but she kept that to herself.

“After I woke and found my way to Solas, I traveled the world for some time. Seeking...seeking others of my kind, and seeking the foci.”

“Foci?”

“Each elvhen god has an item of power. A foci,” Fen'Harel tented his fingers, resting his arms on his knees. “I was searching for them, and was lucky enough to find one. But I could not use it. I was too weakened after my slumber. And then...then I was foolish. I met a being I thought I could control. I though his will weak, and his mind even weaker. He could use the foci where I could not, and he would do as I bid him.”

“Coryphius,” said Cole. Astlyr glanced sideways at her spirit friend. He was listening intently, but there was an expression on his face that had not been there moments before. Something searching as he watched the god speak. His eyes flicked down to meet Astlyr's and he gave her a nod to show that he was alright to continue, though she could not help but wonder what had put such a piercing look into his eyes.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel sighed, his thin lips tightened into a hard, pale line. “But, as you may have guessed, he would not obey me. Instead he had his own plans for the orb. He intended to use it to open the Fade and enter in the flesh. To reach the black city and take power,” the wolf god rolled his eyes. “This was nonsense, but I could not make him believe me.”

“What about this?” Astlyr raised her left hand. The mark on it was clear, even more-so in the Fade.

Fen'Harel's eyes grew wide, hungry. Then he shook his head, looking away. “He wished to use the anchor to ensure his safety in the Fade. He wanted to use it to stabilize the tear, and to mollify the spirits he might encounter.”

“It can calm spirits?” Astlyr looked down at her hand.

“If used correctly, yes,” Fen'Harel nodded. “Of course, he had no idea how to use it, just as you have,” he gave her a pained smile.

“I'm learning,” Astlyr grinned back, with more than a little sassiness. “but what is the anchor? Can you tell me? No one seem certain, though Sol—Mythal,” she corrected herself, “seemed to know more about it than I do. Granted, that is not difficult.”

“Coryphius was greedy,” Fen'Harel explained. “He wanted the anchor to use with his new toy, the orb. He tried to gain it for himself, but the anchor cannot be taken. It can only be given, and she gave it to you.”

“She?” Astlyr tilted her head, confused. “I thought the orb gave me the anchor. My memories of that day are still so hazy and incomplete. I remember picking up the orb and feeling pain in my hand. I thought-”

“No,” Fen'Harel interrupted her. “The orb was merely reacting to you as an unworthy handler.

“Oh, wonderful,” she snarked. “Even inanimate objects think me unworthy.”

A quick smile flashed on Fen'Harel's lips as he pressed on. “No. You were made worthy when the woman called the Divine Justinia bestowed the anchor unto you.”

“She did what?”

“Very few knew of the Divine's marked palm. She kept it well concealed. Fewer still know how she came by the anchor in the first place, and it is not my tale to tell. When you came to her aid and she knew she would perish, she gave the mark to you, freely. Coryphius meant to rip it from her with a blood ritual, but that would not have succeeded. In fact, the anchor might have been destroyed, had you not intervened.” He shook his head wearily, raking a hand through his hair. “I was an idiot to give Coryphius the orb, and I paid he price. It was ruined forever.”

“And it was your foci?” Astlyr asked, brows coming together.

“The orb of destruction?” he laughed, a bark of a sound which made Astlyr jump. “No. It belonged to another.”

“Who's was it then? I gather it is not Mythal's or you could have given it to her as soon as you got a hold of it.”

“That is not important now,” he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “The orb was destroyed and I knew I must repair what I had done. So I ensured that I became part of the Inquisition. I did not imagine I would become true friends with the woman who bore the anchor. That was a pleasant surprise,” he looked up at her with that same, genuine expression as before. “Once we had repaired the damage that I had wrought with my folly I knew I must face my goddess. Mythal called to me, so I went. She took my body, the powers I had gained and mastered within it, much of my energy, and she left me. I suspect she thought I would remain, a shadow of what I was, unable to do anything.”

“Instead you found a dead bird?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“Instead I brought a dead bird.”

“What?”

There was a cunning expression on his face now. More wolfish than before, she thought. His eyes glittered. “I knew I must be punished and I suspected what she would do to me. I never go into any situation without a plan if I can help it. I was ready,” he let his shoulders slump again. “I was ready for death too. But gods cannot die. I placed a small part of myself into the bird.” he looked at his hands in his lap. “When she took my body her power was so consuming. Like fire eating me away leaving only ash. I almost forgot myself entirely. The pain was...almost more than I could endure..”

“You remember the pain, even though you placed part of yourself in the bird?” Astlyr questioned.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said, his expression baleful. “There was not much left of me, and even fewer memories, but one did come to me through the fog of agony. A woman who stepped out of the Fade. A green mark upon her hand.”

“You knew Astlyr would help you,” said Cole, nodding as though this was an obvious certainty. His searching expression momentarily vanished, replaced with an openness Astlyr had never seen before.

“I hoped,” Fen'Harel admitted, looking up with his eyes through thick lashes, reminding Astlyr again of her old hound Dash, when he wanted a treat. She had to bite back a chuckle of mirth at the thought.

“So you found me and we did exactly what you wanted. But I saw Solas....was that?” Astlyr was still confused.

“Mythal. Yes. That is likely.” Fen'Harel nodded.

“Maker's sainted trousers,” he mumbled, “I meet entirely too many old gods for my liking. She seemed a prickly person when I first met her. And she stole your body as punishment for your failure with the orb? I suppose that explains why she needed me...”

“Needed you?” Fen'Harel's head shot up, his expression sharp.

Astlyr gave him a brief account of her time with the man she had thought was Solas. Fen'Harel sat forward. His muscles tensed. “So...” he said quietly, almost to himself. “She found another way.  
But in the end, you defeated the creature you faced?” He asked, brows raised. His hands were gripped in his lap and even in the Fade they had grown white with being clasped so tightly.

“It seemed like I did,” Astlyr shrugged, “I passed out, but the last I saw of him he was being slammed against a wall pretty hard. None of us died after I blacked out, so I assumed we won.”

“But you didn't see his body?” Fen'Harel pressed.

“No. I didn't wake again until a few days ago in Skyhold.”

The elf seemed to consider this for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, though she suspected she could ask Cole for details. The spirit boy had been standing quietly, hands clasped behind his back as he listened. He seemed at ease again.

“You used your anchor to free him,” Fen'Harel rubbed his beard having finally stopping wringing his hands bloodless. “Interesting. I did not suspect that this could happen. I suppose I should have. Was there a time when I knew all the anchor's uses? Perhaps. It is not elvish.” he seemed to be speaking to himself now.

“So the anchor is a power source?” Astlyr questioned.

“Not precisely,” Fen'Harel was looking tired. “It is far more complicated than that. I suspect that what the anchor can do may depend on its wielder. You are powerful, so perhaps, for you, it brings power.”

“Like being a mage?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

“No,” Fen'Harel gave her a wan smile.

“I thought not,” she held up her hand to squint at the mark, “I can't seem to make it work when I want it to either. Perhaps with practice...if I can figure out how to practice something that is like magic, but not magic.”

Cole touched her shoulder lightly. She was surprised that his hand felt warm rather than icy. “Dorian is getting very worried,” he whispered to her.

“Dangerous worried?” she asked.

“Yes,” Cole nodded.

“Alright. It seems it is time we wake up before my mage kills us both,” she said. She looked back at the man sitting across from her. “I'm still not certain what to think of you, or what to believe. I'm ready to believe you're not a demon. I have no idea if you mean us harm or not. I have no proof other than your word and some oddly specific knowledge you have that you were ever Solas.”

“Is there anything I can do to reassure you before we go?” Fen'Harel asked.

Astlyr pondered for a moment, then a smile quirked her lips, “how do you feel about tea?” she asked.

He grinned at her, his eyes sparking. “I hate it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. Snap! What will happen next?! Oh yes, this story is FAAAARRRR from over. The irons are only approaching the fire at this point!
> 
> Hopefully the tweaks I made to the lore added, rather than detracted from the story, and your experience. I agonized over them all, and believe that they could have indeed been part of the games (though probably weren't lol) You never know!
> 
> Random tid-bit: Astlyr's first name is Norse and it actually means "Divine Strength" and Iron Bull told her at one point in game that "Adaar: meant weapon. Thus: strong weapon. ;) Yup.
> 
> 10 points to whoever can guess who original Fen'Harel's appearance is based on!
> 
> Next Chapter: 2/12/15


	10. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a god has awakened, but what happens next? More lore tweaking, that's what! Enjoy, gentle readers!
> 
> Here's a pic of Cole, for enjoyment: http://fav.me/d8hg2rf

Part 10  
Consequences

Cole had “woken” first to tell Dorian to take the sleep spell off of Astlyr. She woke with a slow blink, sitting up. Even with this warning, one of the younger mage guards squeaked in alarm and activated one of her wards. As it was intended to trap demons, it only made Astlyr feel as though her limbs had fallen asleep for a few moments. “Naomi!” Dorian scolded loudly, “Keep control of yourself, young lady!”

The mage blushed with embarrassment and banished her other spells with a wave of her staff, her peers chuckling goodnaturedly at her.

“Well?” Varric was the first to address Astlyr.

She glanced at Cole who was still sitting on the foot of her bed. He no longer looked vital and alive. His skin was back to its sickly pallor and his eyes were dull and sunken. When she met his gaze, however, he gave her a reassuring nod. She had no choice but to believe that being in the human world was what he wanted.

Then she turned to look at the elvish man. Even though she knew what he would look like in this world, it still seemed strange that she was no longer seeing the tall, red haired figure from the Fade. His eyes were the same, she noted, uncertain if that made her feel better or not. She turned to her companions. “Gather the inner circle” she addressed Cullen. He gave her a scrutinizing glance before nodding curtly and marching out of the room. “The guards and healers are dismissed for the time being. After our meeting you will be briefed as necessary concerning out elvish guests.”

The guards looked uneasily at one another, but slowly began to leave the room. One of them stopped near Astlyr's bed, seeming to gather his courage he leaned down to whisper, “guests, Ma'am? Not prisoners?”

“Yes,” she said, in just as hushed a tone.

The man nodded, then walked on, following the rest of the guards. Shortly afterward Vivienne, Blackwall, Sera, and Josephine were led into the infirmary by Cullen, and the healers retreated to an anteroom and were instructed to have dinner and perhaps a loud game of wicked grace to pass the time. Then Astlyr's company gathered together as best they could with so many of them wounded.

“Alright,” Cullen folded his arms, still looking grim and suspicious, “so what do we call this thing?” he gestured towards the elvish man, who was sitting on a wooden chair near Astlyr, looking less intimidated than might have been expected with so many untrusting stares aimed at him.

“You may call me Fen, if you like,” the man said, the twitch of a smile playing on his lips.

Astlyr had to contain a chuckle at Cullen's glare. It could have frozen a pond. Then she began her recounting of what she had seen while she dreamed, and what she thought to have concluded. “I'm almost certain he isn't a demon. He asserts that he is not a spirit either. I suppose we may all form our own conclusions as to his godhood,” she shot a glance towards Myfanwy, who was sitting beside Fen'Harel looking just a little bit pleased with herself. “Now you've heard my conclusions. Does anyone have any questions for myself or Fen'Harel over here? Anything they would like to voice.”

There was a long, uneasy silence. A few unreadable looks were passed between one another. Then Sera stood up. She calmly drew a knife from the back of her belt, and launched herself at Fen'Harel. Myfanwy intercepted before anyone else could. The two women grappled and it was Josie who reached them next and pried them apart. By this time Sera was shouting, “NO! Have you all lost your minds!? It's a DEMON and it needs killing! Why can't you see that?” she turned, slashing at Josie, who narrowly got her arm out of the way.

Cullen grasped Sera's arms then, and with a jerk he pulled them tight behind her back. The knife clattered to the floor. He spun her top face him, intending to try to calm her down and she wriggled an arm free, clumsily punching him in the face. This staggered the man enough to let her go. She scooped up her knife and backed away as Dorian missed her with an ice spell intended to hold her feet in place.

Astlyr moved as quickly as her injured limbs would allow, but Sera dodged her as well, “Look! You're all a bunch of idiots for sitting around here chatting with a demon! You-” she pointed her knife at Astlyr, “are probably already possessed, and I'll be buggered senseless if I am going to hang around here and join you! I thought your inquisition fought shite like this, not welcomed it with a hug and a cup!” she was backing towards the door, knife slashing at anyone who drew near her. Then she turned and darted out of the room.

“Do we send guards?” Astlyr wondered aloud. “Capture her?”

“I wouldn't bother,” Cullen's voice was weary. Astlyr turned to see Cole standing before the knight, resting a cool hand against a welt that was forming on the man's cheekbone.

“She could spread the word that Skyhold is harboring demons,” Cassandra pointed out.

“And who exactly would believe her?” Cullen stood straight, Cole having done what he could. The warrior put a hand to his cheek and prodded his teeth with his tongue to check them. “People in Skyhold can't understand what she's talking about half the time.”

“Still, it would be better to-” Cas pressed.

“To what?” Varric interrupted, “to lock her up? Do we put one of our own in the dungeon? Need I remind everyone that she helped save the world?”

“I must say,” Vivienne spoke next. She had been watching the scene play out with a thoughtful and passive expression on her face. “While I do not agree with the method our young elf used to get her point across, I do agree with her, for the most part.”

“Viv?” Astlyr turned to her elegant mage friend with a feeling of dismay.

“Don't worry my dear, I am not going to attack anyone,” she smiled. “I, at least, do not think that you have been possessed. I do, however, firmly believe that your experience with demons is far to o limited in this case. I must know, darling. What are your plans for our...guest?”

Astlyr looked back to Fen'Harel, whose posture hand changed. He no longer sat up in the chair, interested and trusting. Instead his shoulders were rounded, his eyes cast down. He looked almost ashamed, Astlyr thought as she watched him. She turned back to Vivienne, feeling a lump forming in her chest as the mage's dark, appraising eyes rested on her. “I...I don't know.”

“Well, you had better know soon,” Vivienne said coolly, “or I shall be leaving Skyhold as well. Granted, I will be far less violent about it, and you will have my word that I will not gab about what is happening here to every passing farmhand I encounter.”

“He must be kept under guard,” Cassandra spoke up, her tone level and military. “Perhaps not I the dungeon, but certainly watched at all times by at least one mage and one templar.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “We don't have many templars to spare.”

“Is that guard enough?” Blackwall sat forward. The man had situated himself at the outskirts of the group, watchful.

“I assure you that it will be,” Fen'Harel said, looking at his hands, which were clasped loosely in his lap.

“I will also be watching over my lord,” Myfanwy pointed out. While everyone else's mood was clearly tense and dire, the elvish woman seemed happier than Astlyr had yet seen her. “Now that he has awakened my role is as important as ever. Ensuring that he should want for nothing.”

“I think I need to get myself a disciple,” Varric snarked, grinning lopsidedly.

“Are we sure we trust her?” Blackwall questioned, jabbing a thumb towards Myfanwy.

“She has given us no reason to distrust her,” Astlyr said. Her mind felt overcrowded with possibilities. With thoughts, ideas and plans, none of them helpful. Truth be told she wanted to flee the entire situation. She wasn't cut out for this. She was just a lone qunari from the wilds who has stumbled into a temple on the exact wrong day. She felt her shoulders hunch when she should be standing tall. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to square up. To look the part of the intimidating leader.

“One day your horns with scratch the sky.”

She was startled when Cole spoke. She turned to face him, confused, as did everyone else. “Your father told you that,” the spirit boy gave Astlyr a reassuring nod. “When you were little and you had failed at something you were trying...your shield training. Your arm wasn't strong enough to keep your shield up yet...he told you that one day you would stand so tall and proud that your horns would scratch the sky.”

“I think I like your father,” Iron Bull chuckled.

Astlyr's brows came together as she searched for the memory. She must have been very young, but Cole was still able to find it, somewhere in her mind, as he seemed to able to do when he wanted to help. She recalled her father. A mountain of a man, with horns that curled, a bit like a ram's. It was from him she had inherited the brown tint to her skin, rather than the plain qunari grey. He had been a shield-man himself, and had trained his only child well, and with great patience. Thinking of him now she felt her spine straighten and her determination come back to her in a warm rush. “Alright,” she said, and this time she did sound like the commander she intended to be. “'Fen', as he would like to be called, will be staying with us, at least for a time. He will be kept under strict watch, and not allowed to wander Skyhold. At least one mage and one templar must be in attendance at all times. I also give permission for the elf Myfanwy to accompany him if she so chooses.”

“What do we tell the people of Skyhold?” Josephine asked, her pen already poised to write down the answer.

“Tell them that we believe we have another friendly spirit in our midst, but we are being cautious, just to be certain.” She turned to Myfanwy, “I will allow you to be with 'your lord' but you will keep this god business to yourself. All of us will,” she looked up to meet everyone's eyes. She was pleased to receive nods of ascent, and even approval from some.

“Should we not tell my people that one of their gods has awakened?” Myfanwy asked, her eyes.

“If we do not, we may risk treading on the religious rights of the elves,” Josie pointed out, dabbing ink from her quill on a blotter.

“I would prefer The People not know me. At least for the moment,” Fen'Harel spoke quietly.

Myfanwy looked at him, confusion and sadness mingling on her face, “but my lord-”

“One day I may reveal myself to The People,” he reassured her in a gentle tone, “but now is not the moment, little one.”

Myfanwy sat back, clearly unhappy, but pacified

“What about this Mythal issue?” Cassandra asked. “If we believe Fen's story, and another god is roaming around out there summoning gigantic monsters, how should we react?”

“I will speak with the spymaster,” Josephine said, “and I will be discrete. Our scouts will keep their eyes open for any signs of an elf that appears to be Solas. When you were in the Exalted Plains, Astlyr, you made friends with the nearby Dalish tribe,” the diplomat pointed out. “I can attempt to locate them as well, and see if they, as Dalish, have heard any news, or thoughts on the subject of their gods.”

“Alright, that sounds good,” Astlyr nodded.

Varric addressed Fen'Harel, “So, we've met at least two gods, but what about the other two people? The elf who came with Solas—sorry—Mythal,” he corrected himself, “or the one that turned into a giant monster?”

Myfanwy took out her sketch paper and rifled through, pulling out the picture that the group had agreed looked the closest to the man they had all seen, shortly before battling for their lives. She showed it to Fen'Harel. He took in the image for a moment. “I cannot be certain,” he said.

“Yes you can,” Cole's voice had an edge that Astlyr didn't often hear. “You know who it was.”

Fen'Harel lowered his gaze again. “I did not want to alarm you. I believe the one you summoned is Elgar'nan.”

Myfanwy stood up, her sketches falling from her lap. She backed away from him, her expression tense, “the All Father?” she said, her voice a little too high.

“The Orb of Destruction was his foci, so I believe it was he you summoned. And the picture you have drawn does resemble his most recent form...if I can recall it correctly. It has been a very long time, and I have slept, and woken, and almost ended the world, since then.”

“Who or what is this All Father?” Vivienne demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously. Astlyr felt a prickle of the magic building in the room like a static charge.

“Each god in the pantheon has a specific role. A title by which they were known. These titles are not always accurate. I often find myself referred to as the trickster god, which might apply in my more puckish moods, but there is far more to me than that,” he glanced at all the waiting faces and it was clear he was not going to get away with being vague. He sighed. “Mythal is known as the goddess of Justice and her husband, Elgar'nan as the god of Vengeance.”

“Maker's balls,” Varric exhaled, “and what might he have to seek vengeance for? Oh, perhaps, the systematic slaughter and enslavement of his people?”

“I do not know if that is what he intends,” Fen'Harel said, dipping his head in a gesture that reminded Astlyr of his wolf form. “Mythal and I had intended to go about waking him together. I felt that I could act as counselor and guide, as I had in days gone by. I did not imagine she would even be able to free him after I was...” he trailed off, an expression of pain on his face.

“Another way has been found, clearly,” Vivienne gestured towards Astlyr. “Can you give us any idea what this 'All Father' might be planning to do, if it is indeed he who we have freed?”

Fen'Harel shook his head, looking up through dark eyelashes at the gathering, “I suspect they may attempt to continue to seek and free the rest of the elven pantheon.”

“You mean those other gods that we images of in the Temple of Mythal?” Astlyr questioned.

“Them, and others,” Fen'Harel answered, looking tense. It seemed clear that he was expecting to be attacked at any moment. “However, this will be no easy task for them. Mythal is weakened, even with my body, and I suspect you left her mate in a similar state when you defeated him in the Emerald Graves. They will require the foci of each god to awaken them. I know that Mythal has her own, and mine. I do not know if she has possession of others. She did not before she took my body.”

“She has your foci?” Astlyr tilted her head, trying to see the Elf's lowered face behind the tumble of dark curls which fell over it.

“My foci was with my body, and when she took my body she took my foci,” he explained. “This is why I was so slow to awaken myself. I would have gathered enough energy eventually, but at great cost to this body,” he gestured to himself. Finally he looked up to meet Astlyr's eyes. “Thank you, my friend, for the gift of your energy to help me.”

“Er, you're welcome,” Astlyr felt awkward, “though I wouldn't say it was an intentional gift. I suppose, in the end, I was happy to give it.”

“Could you have taken all her enegry that way? Killed her?” Dorian spoke up.

“I do not know,” Fen'Harel admitted, “I have never used the anchor in that way before. I know very little about it.”

“No one seems to know,” Astlyr glanced down at her hand.

“Back to the issue of these awakening 'gods'” Vivienne helmed the conversation again, “What we need to know is how likely they are to attack people, or cause trouble for us mere mortals.” Her voice was icy with sarcasm, showing clearly what she thought the their claim to godhood.

“I do not know,” Fen'Harel said, and he put his face in his hands. Myfanwy placed a gentle hand on his rounded shoulders.

“Alright,” Varric's tone was kind, “I believe him. Let's stop asking him the same question over and over.”

“We need answers,” Josie pointed out, though her words were not laden with the same coldness as Vivienne's.

“He wants to help us,” said Cole, pale eyes fixed on the slumped elf. “He is afraid...” he began to speak rapidly, as he did when reading someone's pain, “she wants me with her. Needs my help to walk on the safe path. But he... he pulls her, drags her under cold water and she doesn't see. They rule The People, but never walk their roads. I met a child and she petted my fur and laughed. My friend has forgotten. He never understood. He shook the earth and made The People love him with fear.”

“Well, that was helpful,” muttered Iron Bull sarcastically.

“I think the best we can do is be extremely vigilant,” Astlyr spoke, her tone level and firm. “We will increase our spies and scouts. Return to the level of watchfulness that we had when Coryphius was around.”

“Should we send word to Lelianna- I'm sorry, I mean the Divine Victoria?” asked Josephine, who seemed to already be drafting a letter.

“She'll find out either way,” Astlyr chuckled. Not much happened in all of Thedas that the red haired woman did not know about. “It would be better if she could hear it from us. Do impress upon her our desire to use caution and not stir people into a panic. We do not know what, if anything, will come of this.”

“Indeed,” Josephine agreed, nodding as she wrote, her pen feather twitching madly.

“We should also be more vigilant about whom we let into Skyhold,” Cullen remarked. “Thus far our doors have been open to any who needed aid, but now it seems we could be letting in gods. Or whatever these people are.”

“At least one of us,” Astlyr gestured between Josephine, Cullen and herself, “should always be informed when newcomers arrive here and be present to greet them, and ensure they seem safe. Once Cassandra is back on her feet she can help with that too,” she gave her warrior friend a nod.

“Our plan is formed then, such as it is,” Dorian said, studying the group with an apprizing look.

“I will speak to the mages and what templars we have,” Cullen said, moving towards the door.

“Alright, but wait a moment, Cullen,” Astlyr raised her hand to stay his progress, then got clumsily to her feet. Her thigh had stiffened in the time they had been speaking. She gently flexed it to work out of the knots. “The rest of you are free to go about whatever business suits you for the moment,” she said to her fellows.

“A nap suits me,” Dorian announced with a good-natured smile.

“I believe I shall go back to helping your workers,” Blackwall said, rising and stretching his back. “You've got snow falling through unfinished roofs all over the fortress, and people going cold. Not to mention your mage tower was hardly finished when the snow hit. There are a lot of repairs to be done before another winter storm finds its way to us.”

“You are right. Thank you, Blackwall,” Astlyr smiled and took his hand for a reassuring moment. Though he had once lied to her about his past, and she had thought her trust for him had fled, she found it difficult to look down into his steady gaze and not feel reassured. One lie, however large, did not counteract all his true actions in her service. She was a believer in second chances. She had certainly been given a few.

“I shall retire to the mage tower as well,” Vivienne said, striding elegantly towards the door. “You may wish to pop your head in every now and then, my dear. Without the structure of a proper circle your mages are often chaotic and confused. I only hope that I can be a steadying influence on them.”

“Thank you, Viv,” Astlyr gave her a nod of gratitude.

Cole called the healers back into the infirmary and things began to move as always. Astlyr told Audra and her people that the man calling himself Fen, was likely a friendly spirit, and they were to treat him with courtesy and caution. They all nodded solemnly. Fen'Harel, who seemed wearied by the day of being interrogated, went willingly back to his bed to wait until secure quarters could be arranged for him. A few guards were called back to watch over him.

This finished, Astlyr turned to Cullen, who had been waiting patiently by the door, hand resting on the pommel of his greatsword. He gave her a thin smile as she limped up to him and gestured that they should move out of the infirmary.

The two walked quietly down the hallway. Astlyr noticed at once how much cooler it was outside the room of healing, which was kept quite warm with two large fireplaces, though often only one was lit. For a long moment only the sound of their footsteps echoed on the stones. Cullen's even and measured, as Astlyr's clopped unevenly with her limp. Finally Cullen spoke, his voice barely above a muttering as he gestured to the bare stone walls. “We need to get some tapestries down here. They keep in the warm. Not to mention are much more interesting to look at than grey stone.”

“Cullen,” Astlyr stopped walking, watching as he moved past her and his back stiffened as she spoke his name. He turned to face her, his brows knit together, though he said nothing. “I know you have much more experience with demons than I do. I'm sorry if I belittled that knowledge, but you cannot continue to second guess me in front of my men.”

“Someone should,” his lip curled slightly. “You said yourself that you wanted me to check you if you are about to do something stupid. Then I try and you do it anyway.”

Astlyr fell silent. He was right. Hadn't she requested he do that very thing for her? And he had even attempted to be discrete. Not shouting it for the whole room to hear, but speaking only to her. “I..I'm sorry,” she mumbled, feeling small, which was difficult for someone who took up most of the hallway. “I saddled you with an impossible task. Of keeping an eye on me, when I have done, and will likely continue to do, whatever fool thing comes into my head.”

“It wasn't a fool thing,” his voice had softened. There was a gentle huskiness to it that she found she liked. “You did what had to be done to find out what you could. But it was a great risk and I don't like endangering our inquisitor.”

“You were right to try to stop me,” she said, letting her shoulder's droop.

“It's bad enough that you insist on going out on every mission and almost getting yourself killed,” she expected his voice to be scolding, but instead there was a hint of mirth. She looked up to see a smirk playing on his scarred lips. “Astlyr, you are a woman of action. Whatever other reasons people have for following you; your status, your potential holiness, that mark on your hand, I follow you because of your willingness to face things yourself. My teachers would have told me that it is a poor leader who puts themselves in constant danger with their men, yet it is the only quality I will follow without question.”

“Blackwall once told me 'you are who you choose to follow,'” Astlyr mused, “so it would seem you are a foolish risk taker who should be dead several times over.”

“That is remarkably accurate,” Cullen was still grinning, his gold-flecked eyes sparkling in the torchlight of the hallway.

“So, are we alright?” Astlyr asked. “I cannot be at odds with the people I need the most. That much I do know about good leadership.”

“We are alright,” Cullen dipped his head, a slight seriousness returning to his voice. “You should know, I will not stop attempting to be your voice of reason, even if you do ignore me.”

Astlyr smiled, feeling her heart lift, “I would never want you to stop. I promise that I shall try to listen to you in the future. At least for a few moments before I ignore your advice completely,” she grinned.

“I feel so reassured,” he chuckled. “Shall I go see to those guard rotations now, my lady?”

“Please don't call me that,” Astlyr snorted at his formality. “And yes, please do. Oh,” she stopped him as he began to turn. “I thought you should know that I intend to return to my duties after today...and as such I will also be returning to my quarters,” she felt a little guilty. “You are still free to come when you need a place to hide out, but I will likely be there.”

He shrugged, though she detected a slight blush blooming on his cheeks as he realized she knew that he had been using her room to sleep in. “No, no. Of course you must,” he smiled briefly with a flash of white teeth. “Thank you for the use of it.”

“You're welcome.”

Cullen dipped his head to her, then finally turned and walked on down the corridor. Astlyr sighed wishing she knew better the right things to say to people. She knew Cullen would remember her refusal to heed his advice. Though he would not hold it against her, he might be uneasy about correcting her in the future, whatever he said. She turned and limped slowly back to the infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera greatly disapproves. Oh dear. Well, at least only she left and not Viv as well. What will happen next?!
> 
> Next chapter: 2/19/15
> 
> Random tidbit: my birthday is that week ;)
> 
> Did any of you guess who I based original Fen's appearance off of? One of my readers did! 10 points to RomanaSpoCoy on Deviant art fro guessing it was: http://darkroom.shortlist.com/980/674a69b2d417a0e5dd37d02d041024b3:3cca5ef6f1c33fcda3e3afdf80de451e/tomhiddleston.jpg


	11. The Inquisitor's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! This week was my brithday and I am passing the presents on to you! This week you get TWO chapters of Old Gods! Oh yeah! *Happy dance*

Part 11  
Inquisitor's Day

Astlyr was on the roof of the privy putting on shingles. A few weeks of recovering from her injuries had made the qunari a little stir crazy, and her inability to help in the efforts to make Skyhold more liveable had driven her to take on any building task she could find.

Her men were pleasantly surprised to find her a skilled builder with some knowledge of carpentry. Her father had taught her how to keep their little cabin in repair, and she had even helped helped him construct a small byre for their goats when she was thirteen. She was careful to use her right arm more than her left, for though the breaks were healing, thanks in no small part to the skill of Vivienne and the other healer mages, it still twinged. Audra tutted any time she caught sight of Astlyr lifting or carrying with her bad arm.

Astlyr sat back, straddling the peak of the roof with a leg on either side. She tilted her head to the winter sun, exhaling a cloud of steamy breath. Though it was a cold day, she was warm from her exertions. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, more to clear away strands of her hair than sweat. She was about ready to break for lunch. She planned to take a meal down to the infirmary and eat with Iron Bull. He was the only one still there, his injuries having been the worst. He loathed being stuck there, but the healers insisted. Dorian and Cassandra, who had also been seriously hurt, made certain to check in with Audra at least twice a day for bandage changes and examinations.

Astlyr hooked the hammer she had been using into a loop on her belt and moved to climb down the ladder. Below her the other workers were shoring up a wall of the privy which had begun fall apart due to moisture freezing between the stones. Astlyr squinted as she caught sight of two figures moving through the snowy yard not far from her. Myfanwy and Fen'Harel, both dressing in long, green winter cloaks, were out for their daily walk. Astlyr checked again and spotted the mage and templar that were guarding the 'god' for the day, standing back and chatting with one another. While Fan'Harel was usually kept locked in his rooms, he was allowed out once per day to get some supervised fresh air.

She watched him for a moment. He had not visited her dreams since he had woken. She no longer dreamed of friendly wolves in a green landscape. Last night she had been flying. The night before she had walked into an important war room briefing without any pants, and for some reason there was a talking nug that laughed at her. It was nice to have ordinary dreams again, but part of her missed her canine companion.

Astlyr climbed down from the roof, her leg still a bit stiff. She wondered if the muscle would ever fully recover. The cold weather did not please it, this was certain. She had a new scar on her thigh as well. Even the healers had been unable to completely close the wide gash. Astlyr did not mind, if only it would stop throbbing on chilly days. She set down her tools in a waiting bucket, saying her brief goodbyes to the other workers she moved to join the two elves.

“Good day,” she greeted Fen'Harel with an upraised hand.

He smiled at her and she found herself envisioning Solas' face for a fleeting moment. The way Fen'Harel's smile reached his eyes was the same, even on a new face. Myfanwy nodded to Astlyr, also smiling her greeting. The elven woman was never far from her lord's side. “I see you are busy as ever,” Myfanwy gestured to the roof which now sported a perfect scaling of new shingles.

“Now no one will have to worry about being snowed on while they piss,” Astlyr said, planting her hands on her hips and giving her work a pleased once-over.

She heard Fen'Harel chuckle, which made her own smile broaden. “Important work,” the man agreed.

“How have you been finding your stay here at Skyhold?” she asked, aware that her tone had grown overly formal. She still hadn't decided how to hold a conversation with this stranger who wasn't a stranger.

Fen'Harel dipped his head, “I am enjoying the improvements since the last time I was here. I do miss my office, however. I miss studying.”

It took Astlyr a moment to understand. The round room, with its painted walls, had become temporary housing for several refugees which they had taken in. Her memory cast back to seeing her elven companion, Solas, in that room, bent over his work, a crease of concentration forming between his eyes. Then how that look would smooth with calm pleasure when she would come to visit him. She winced inwardly. It would be a lie to say she did not still miss Solas, even though she knew she would never get him back the way he was. She looked at the man before her. Dark curls spilling from beneath the green hood he wore. He was actually a bit taller than Solas. “Perhaps we could get you a few things that would allow you to continue your studies. What were you researching?”

“Skyhold,” he said, a smile turning the corner of his mouth upward. “I believe I may have told you that this is an elven place. From a very long time ago, before The People were enslaved or forced to live on the run. When it was built it was believed by the elves that it allowed them to touch the sky. It put them in closer contact with us...their gods,” he clarified at Astlyr's look. “I do not know much of Skyhold when I first came, save its location, but I was attempting to research more. Perhaps something could aid us in our various endeavors here, as it seems to have become our home.”

Astlyr flinched at the words 'our home'. Certainly she loved Skyhold, and the more she helped rebuild it, the greater her sense of ownership grew. But there was still a part of her, and perhaps there always would be, that longed for the simpler life she had known. That ached for little cabins on a hillside, or traveling with a mercenary band. “Well, perhaps we could give you some resources. Let your guards or Myfanwy know what you need and we'll see about acquiring it for you.” She said.

“Thank you,” he bowed slightly. He moved with the same gentle grace that Solas always had. Astlyr might have thought this an elven trait, has she not seen Sera spectacularly trip over her own feet from time to time. The thought of Sera made Astlyr's heart twinge. She had not seen the elvish rogue since she had stormed out of the infirmary several weeks before. Her room in the tavern had been cleared out and someone else was renting it now.

“Astlyr,” Fen'Harel asked in a lower tone, indicating with his eyes that he wished to step away from Myfanwy to speak to her. 

“What is it?” she asked, allowing them to move out of easy hearing of the others.

“Is the mage, Morrigan, still here at Skyhold?”

“At times,” Astlyr said. “She comes and goes as she pleases, but uses Skyhold as a base of operations.”

Fen'Harel looked tense, his eyes flicking to look around as though he expected to be attacked at any moment. “How much does she know of me?”

“She saw you when you were sleeping, and knows what you claim to be. Like most of us, she is suspicious of your godhood, but much less so than some of our number. Possibly because she drank from the Well of Sorrows and has a better idea of whether the elven gods actually exist. No offense meant,” she added.

Fen'Harel pulled off his hood, freeing messy curls and letting the sun caress his pale features. The end of his nose was pinkish with cold, but Astlyr noticed that neither he nor Myfanwy wore any boots. Their bare toes seemed completely unbothered by the snow they trod in. Astlyr shook her head in admiration. Even as a qunari, and as such able to withstand harsher temperatures, (though she was more suited to heat than cold) she always kept her feet tucked into fur lined winter boots. She caught the concerned look on her elven companion's angular features. “What's wrong?”

“Morrigan. Do you recall what Abelas told us of the well when we reached it?”

Astlyr felt her skin prickle as Fen'Harel spoke as though he had been there, with her. It was still difficult to reconcile this new man as her old friend, and possibly a god all at the same time. Instead of lingering on this she tried to cast her mind back. The keeper of the well had told them that it was an artifact of Mythal. She felt her breath catch, “that whomever drank from the well would be bound to the will of Mythal.”

“Has Morrigan displayed any unusual behavior as of late?” Fen'Harel asked, his eyes bright and intense in the naked winter sunlight. They were the same color as the cloudless sky they reflected as he looked up at her.

“No more than usual,” Astlyr tried to quip, but her heart wasn't in it. Instead she was searching her memory for any sign of the woman acting differently. “No. I do not believe so,” she shook her head. “Why didn't I think about this earlier.”

“Likely because, until very recently, you thought the elven gods either a myth, or very detached from yourselves and your lives,” he lowered his head again. Submissive, as a wolf might be to a pack leader. “I only ask that she be monitored. I have no idea who much control Mythal can exert over her, if any, from this distance. I also cannot tell if Mythal would have any interest in using such control. She is aware that you have me here, but may not even suspect that I am awake.”

“She didn't seem to think you a threat when she saw you before,” Astlyr pointed out.

Fen'Harel flinched, his lip curling in a wince, as though he had some memory of the visit, though he had been locked in his slumber. “If I am honest, I hope she does believe me still too weak to waken. As it is I am still very limited. I am grateful that the one called Daveth was a mage, but his abilities are very different from those of Solas, and I have little opportunity to practice them. I wouldn't wish to alarm my guards,” he shot a wan glance at the mage and templar, who were still engaged in a lively conversation.

“How are you doing otherwise?” Astlyr questioned. “Are you still weakened by the whole dead bird incident?”

“I am,,” he admitted. “Less so now that I am able to consume food and drink, but it may be some time before I am returned to my previous strength. Even in Solas' body I was not near what I could be. What I was in days of old.” He looked almost ashamed. “You can hardly brag that the inquisition has a god in its ranks when the one you have is so pathetic. Not that you would brag of it,” he smirked thinly.

Astlyr chuckled. “Perhaps some day, when we figure out what it is we think of you. Then we'll decide if we want to brag or not.”

“Perhaps,” he smiled, meeting her gaze again with more confidence this time. There was a hint of the old Solas in him. A proud bearing that would show itself from time to time. Astlyr found she was pleased to see it, when it was there.

“I will take your request into consideration,” she said, formally, straightening and attempting to look more commanding.

“Thank you,” Fen'Harel nodded to her and pulled his hood back up before moving to rejoin Myfanwy. He hesitated, glancing back at her, “Inquisitor.”

“Yes?”

“I miss talking with you,” he said, then he turned and walked on with his small company.

Astlyr moved on towards the door to the lower keep of Skyhold, considering the elf's words. Was Morrigan a danger? Could they keep an eye on her without her notice? What might she do if she found herself under suspicion. Astlyr decided she would have to ask her advisers about this as soon as possible.

She wished Lelianna was still with them. The shrewd spy master would tell Astlyr exactly what she needed to hear, whether she liked it or not. These days Cullen seemed less willing to give his opinion, though lately there had not been much to debate. When people came to Skyhold to petition for shelter, she, Cullen, and Josephine were almost always in agreement. Thus far everyone had been allowed entry. Still, small contingents of scruffy, malnourished country folk whose homes and fields had been destroyed in the time of rifts, came almost daily.

Astlyr knew Skyhold to be massive, with many rooms, but she wondered how long they could, or should, continue to take in refugees. In her last chat with the head cook Astlyr had been pleased to learn that their winter stores looked ready to hold out. Extra had been purchased all summer in anticipation of just such winter hardships. Astlyr could have hugged the short, round woman for her forethought, but the cook had seemed uneasy just to stand in the presence of the qunari inquisitor.

Astlyr had to walk through the kitchens on her way to the infirmary, and she nodded a greeting to the staff, who all bobbed their heads and whispered to one another. A small, youthful elven man hurried forward with a laden basket, “your lunch, my lady,” he said, beaming. She noticed that his teeth were quite crooked, but this seemed to make his wide grin all the more endearing. She couldn't help but smile back as she thanked him.

On she walked, musing as she munched on a roll from the basket. It was still warm and filled with herbs. Eating it reminded of her warm little cottage growing up and she felt a little less insecure about Skyhold's possible troubles, if only for a few moments.

In the Infirmary she headed straight for Iron Bull's bed. Crem was seated there already, chatting with his leader in low tones. He looked up as Astlyr approached and gave her an encouraging smile. “Well, I'll leave you two to your alone time,” the warrior said, pilfering a roll from the basket before leaving.

“Some kind of discipline you teach your men,” Astlyr snarked as Crem paused near the door to hold an amiable conversation with Audra.

“I can't teach that one anything,” Iron Bull smiled, watching his friend fondly.

Astlyr and Iron Bull ate and chatted for some time. She noticed he was making an effort to keep the conversation light. She felt she should not burden him with her worries about Morrigan when she could tell that something was bothering him. Finally, after yet another pointless back and forth about the best way to lay shingle, she looked him square in the face, meeting his good eye steadily, “Alright, Bull. I know something is on your mind. Why don't you just tell me?”

Iron Bull hesitated. Then, with a wince, she reached up to his chest, gently pulling something free from beneath the soft, cotton shirt he wore. It was the dragon tooth on its cord necklace. It dangled from his fingers, rotating slowly. “I have been thinking, Kadan...” he seemed more uncertain than she had ever seen him. She was used to confident, in-charge Iron Bull. His tone made her palms go clammy. “You and I, we were great together when you were facing Coryphius. I was the sort of boyfriend you needed. Someone to help you relieve tension in some fun and inventive ways between bouts of killing demons.”

“You are more than that to me,” Astlyr said, sensing where this was going and feeling a little as though the bed was about to drop out from under her. Still, she kept herself under control, her face impassive and steady. A stoney expression which had won her several hands of wicked grace.

“You are more than that to me too,” he said, so earnestly that Astlyr believed him. “But I can tell that we're not perfect together any more. I'm not the man you need now. I'm not certain who is, but you are a different woman now.”

“No,” her brows came together, confused. “I'm not. I'm the same as I ever was.”

“You're more careful. More...wise than you were. You need someone who can match your mind, as well as your strength,” Iron Bull reached back with his free hand to unclasp his necklace. He held it towards her, a deep sadness in his eyes. “Give this to someone who fits who you have become.”

Astlyr didn't take the tooth. The one she wore suddenly felt cold against her breastbone. Her throat was tight and she felt a deep sadness and even anger rising up in her. “Every time,” she muttered, her voice low, dark. Iron Bull tilted his head, having not heard her clearly. “Every time,” she repeated, louder. “Every man I have ever been with,” she shook her head, trying to clear it. “They all make excuses to end it, but they always end it.” Iron Bull looked so deeply saddened that she was having trouble keeping up her anger. She looked at her hands instead. “Most of the men I have been with were human,” she admitted. “I think they all just wanted to brag to their mates that they bedded a qunari. I thought...I thought that you...that we...”

Iron Bull leaned towards her, though it obviously cause him pain, and cupped her chin in a gentle, calloused hand. “Ah, Kadan. You will never be a conquest in my mind! You are far far more than that. You are an astounding woman, and you deserve a worthy mate. I can never be what I know you truly want. I was raised in the qun. Relationships are different there. Some may last a lifetime, but it is rare. I think it is better to see that ours was great, but never meant to go on forever.”

Astlyr considered for a long moment. It was true that her relationship with Iron Bull had been mostly a physical one. It had suited her well enough, truth be told, though admittedly his love making style could be a bit overwhelming at times. She had enjoyed it, but part of her did pull towards something else, though she didn't know exactly what. She shook her head. There was a lump in her chest like a hot stone. Even though she knew that Iron Bull was probably right about their relationship, she still hated this part. “If this is what you want,” she said, her tone dull.

“I don't want this, no,” Iron Bull said, his voice laden with apology, “ but I know it is the right thing to do.”

“Alright,” she exhaled.

“And Boss,” he said, resting his hand over hers on the bed, “I'm still with you until the end. If you need anything, hell, even if you just need a quick tumble, I'm here for you.”

She laughed, though it was half choke, “I'll keep that in mind, Bull,” she said, her voice throaty but still clear. Then she stood slowly and walked out of the infirmary without glancing back. Once in the quiet hallway she allowed herself a moment to mourn. A tight shaking of her shoulders as she held herself. No tears escaped. She seldom cried, even when she wanted to. Her sadness escaped soundlessly past parted lips and clenched jaws. Then she straightened, composed herself, and walked on. A hot anger still lurked somewhere inside her, but she was determined not to let it get the better of her.

Instead she made her way towards the main hall of Skyhold to see if Josie or Cullen had any news for her, and to tell them of her concerns over Morrigan. Without thinking she tucked Iron Bull's dragon tooth into a pocket. Perhaps she would give it to someone else one day. Someone who would never let it, or her, go.

The main hall was bustling, and she saw Josie and Cullen already standing at the head, in front of the throne. If Astlyr was honest she hated that chair of office. So overblown and spiky. It made her look like a ruthless dictator no matter how much she tried to seem friendly or wise. As a result she only sat on it when she was forced to pass judgment on a criminal. Then she didn't mind appearing to be an ass. 

She made her way through the crowd to try to reach her two advisers on a dais. Peasants had come to Skyhold seeking shelter and aid. They were dressed it ratty winter attire and she grimaced when she saw that some had tied cloth around their feet as they had no boots. Skyhold and shelter and food, but Astlyer knew that clothing and fresh footwear were in short supply. A pity that none of them desperately needed swords, because Skyhold was bristling with weaponry. Keeping several skilled smiths had been important during a war, but now seemed a bit superfluous. Astlyr wondered how much a good cobbler would cost to have on staff.

Finally she made her way to the head of the crowd, greeting Cullen and Josephine with a nod. She turned, expecting to see a family of bedraggled peasants was next in line to petition for admittance.

Instead she found two well dressed men in full, maintained armor. Astlyr recognized the emblem on their tabbards as the crest of the royal family. Queen Anora and King Alistair. She had met the royal couple once, very briefly, and it had not been long enough to make an impression. She opened her mouth to speak to them, couldn't decide what she was expected to say, and decided to let the two men go first.

“Madam Inquisitor,” one of the knights stepped forward, pressing his fist to his chest in salute. Astlyr and her two advisers returned the gesture. Then he raised his voice to a lofty and proud tone. “We are here as an honored envoy from their majesties. My name is Ser Roderick Miles and my companion is Ser Oswyn Sighard.”

Josephine made a small noise of surprise and Astlyr turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “I am familiar with these men,” The adviser clarified, dipping her head and riffling through the papers she had with her. “They are both members of Queen Anora's personal knights! For them to be acting as messengers-”

“Not messengers,” the man called Ser Oswyn corrected. “Emissaries. We have been sent here by the queen herself to speak with the Inquisitor on a matter to which the queen would very much enjoy a prompt reply. May we retire to your private office to discuss this immediately?”

Astlyr gestured for the knight to stop speaking. She could tell both these men thought themselves quite important. She could also sense politics were about to be discussed, and she was never one for lengthy talks.“All of these good people are here seeking my help,” she gestured to the hall, full near to bursting. “I will aid them first, then I can give your matter my full attention.”

“The queen's matter,” the second night said in a hushed tone, as though he wasn't fully committed to correcting this intimidating woman.

She felt an odd gratification at the expressions of the two knights as they stepped back to wait, shifting in their fancy armor, which looked heavy to stand in for any length of time. Astlyr signaled someone to bring them some chairs, then turned her attention back to the other petitioners that filled the hall. A few families came forward and she offered them shelter and food in exchange for their work in whatever capacity they could find. Everyone agreed wholeheartedly.

The third group she saw surprised her. Rather than a another family of bedraggled peasants, three mages and a weary looking templar were standing at the base of the steps which led to the throne.

Two of the mages were women, the third a young man. The templar was youthful as well, Astlyr noticed, as she took in his bedraggled armor which didn't seem to have been made for him. He had chestnut red hair that was pulled back with a leather thong, though much of it had escaped and hung over his pale face. His expression reminded Astlyr strongly of a kicked puppy. Even as he pressed a fist to his chest, bowing respectfully to her and opening his mouth to speak, the mages had bustled past him and were talking over him.

“Herald!” one of the women spoke with a refined, if a bit overblown, accent, which Astlyr suspected she was putting on to seem more important. “I did not expect to speak with you in person! We are honored indeed!”

“Yes, it is the greatest honor to meet you, Herald!” the male mage squeaked. He was so young puberty didn't seem to have found its way to his voice yet. Astlyr bit back a chuckle as he tried to look dignified.

“A great honor,” the third mage put in, as though afraid of being forgotten about.

Astlyr shot a glance towards her two advisers. Josie was managing to look serious and businesslike, but Cullen had a fist to his mouth, hiding a smile with a cough. He could not conceal the way mirth wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Greetings, friends,” Astlyr said, giving them her best magnanimous expression, which probably looked strange on the face of a qunari, but she tried not to think about it. “What brings you to Skyhold?”

The templar moved forward slightly, trying to be seen behind the mages. He opened his mouth again, but once more he was drowned out by their chatter. “We are from the Cricle in Markham,” the first mage explained. She was perhaps in her forties and her long straight hair was black as a raven's wing. Her eyes were likewise black, like twin stones set in a long face with prominent cheekbones.

The second mage had brown hair, which was braided up around her head, though many of the braids were falling loose, giving her the look of a neglected child even though she was likely at least thirty. She stepped forward, speaking immediately after her dark haired companion. “When you wisely ordered the circles disbanded and the mages freed, we at Markham celebrated,” she explained, wringing her hands as though delivering hard news.

“You were pleased then?” Astlyr questioned, uncertain where this was going.

“Most of us were,” the youngest mage spoke. His skin was darker, like red clay. A few tufts of what might one day be a beard sprouted pathetically on his weak chin. “There were some who were not pleased with your ruling,”

“Of course that is to be expected,” Josephine said, as though this was old news.

“Some of our mages rebelled...against the rebellion,” the first woman explained. “They became violent. Many of our templars sided with them.”

“They attacked the rest of us,” the young man said, shakily.

Astlyr flinched. She had worried that this might happen at some circles. Hadn't Vivienne warned her once of this very thing? That some mages might not wish to be 'freed'? Suddenly asked to live by their own choices when previously they had been safe and protected in the towers. Astlyr's jaw tightened. By the look of these four the trouble in Markham had not ended well. “What happened?” she asked anyhow.

“The Circle was destroyed. The tower is rubble,” the second mage said, hanging her head.

“Maker's breath,” Cullen exhaled, eyebrows raised.

“We, and a few other survivors, set out to find a new place to stay. We traveled the farthest, determined to reach Skyhold and see what awaited here,” the first mage was speaking again, her put-on accent even thicker. Like dripping honey. “We had heard rumors in our travels of a new tower being constructed here, and we grew eager to see it, and perhaps be a part of it.”

“Ours in not a Circle tower,” Cullen stepped forward to explain. “It is more a college than anything. Mages there can study in safety. We do have templars on hand, but they do not rule over the mages, nor instruct their days. We will no longer steal children from their families, but instead encourage families and children to come to us together and to study and grow in their magic.”

“That sounds idyllic,” crooned the second woman, smiling. Astlyr noticed she had a wide gap between her front teeth.

“May we...” the templar managed to speak for the first time. His voice was hoarse and weary, “May we stay?”

He swayed on his feet and Astlyr moved without thinking to support him. Her motion sending the three mages scattering like chickens as though afraid she meant to maul them. “Are you hurt?” she asked the man, taking his arm to steady him. Cullen had moved forward as well, concern on his tough features.

Josephine waved a guard over, “fetch a healer up here!”

“No. I am fine,” the young templar said, taking in the qunari woman who was helping him with wide, somewhat alarmed, pale blue eyes. “Just weary from the journey.”

“Did you watch over these three the entire way?” Cullen asked, his voice soft.

The templar nodded, his shoulders sagging with obvious exhaustion. “Yes sir. It was a very long journey, sir.” he seemed more comfortable addressing Cullen than Astlyr.

The three mages, for their part, hardly seemed concerned at their protector's condition. “Alright,” Cullen's tone was soothing, “take it easy now, son. You made it. We'll get you all some food and shelter.”

“Thank you, sir,” the templar mumbled between cracked lips.

One of the healers appeared shortly, taking the young man's arm over his shoulder and nodded smartly to Astlyr, “I've got him, thank you ma'am.”

“As to you three,” Astlyr turned to the mages, who stood to the side, waiting none too patiently and occasionally speaking in low, hurried voices to one another. “We would be pleased to have you in our college. I will even personally show you around.” She watched the expressions on their faces form confusion and even fear. Sometimes it was refreshing to be so intimidating. If anyone meant trouble, they often thought twice when they got a look at the inquisitor.

“Alright,” said the first woman, timidly.

“Just let me finish up with these other petitioners and I will take you to the tower myself,” Astlyr said. “In the mean time have a seat over there and someone will bring you food and drink,” she gestured that some more chairs be brought so the mages could wait beside the queen's knights. The mages shuffled to the side, already nattering to one another. Astlyr turned to Cullen and give him an expressive eye roll, which she returned with a grin.

The rest of the petitioners were what Astlyr had expected. Villagers and peasants looking for a place to stay, at least over winter. She took to asking them what heir skills were, in hopes of finding a cobbler. No such luck, but she did encounter two wheelwrights, a farrier, and a cooper. Several of the women had skill with sewing, so Astlyr planned to put them to work making new clothes for the people sheltering there.

Feeling pleased with herself Astlyr turned to the impatiently waiting mages. “Are you ready?” she addressed them.

“Yes,” they all stood and spoke as one. Astlyr shook her head. Mages were so odd.

One of the royal knights stood hurriedly, “Madam Inquisitor! What about our crucial matter from the queen?!”

“My diplomat, Josephine Montilyet, will take your information and relay it to me,” she said, knowing that she would understand whatever these people had say to far better when Josie had vetted it and weeded out all the bullshit.

“But Madam Inquisitor-”

“Please, don't call me that,” Astlyr groaned, waving them away with her hand as she imagined a queen might. “I have very important business to attend. It is not every day that we welcome three new mages into our ranks.” This was true. Now that the war was over, the influx of magic users had slowed considerably, though today Atstlyr fully intended to use these newcomers as an excuse to avoid politics and posturing envoys. “Ambassador Montilyet has my full confidence. You may say anything to her that you would to me. She will take it in the strictest confidence.”

Josie was watching Astlyr's face with a raised eyebrow. Though she did not look at all displeased with the arrangement. Astlyr knew her friend was extremely curious what these knights had to say, and also reveled in the chance to appear more important in the Inquisition. Astlyr was happy to give that to her, and to avoid an almost certainly boring talk at the same time. She turned to Cullen and her new mage friends. “Shall we? Oh, and Josie, we need to meet and talk after wards. I have something I need to discuss with my advisers.”

“Very well,” Josephine nodded respectfully and gestured that the disgruntled looking knights should follow her to her office.

Astlyr heard one of the men muttering about disrespect, and how the queen would certainly hear of it. The Inquisitor grinned. As her life went on, Astlyr was finding it more and more satisfying to be contrary.

She and Cullen led the new mages out of the great hall. At the top of the stairs down to the yard Astlyr hesitated, trying to not let out a snort of laughter. The two self-important queen's knights had not come alone. Their fully armored horses were standing in the yard, being held by well dressed pages. The page's mounts also stood by. There was even a war hound, adorned with shining battle armor. The beast lifted its square head to study the qunari and her party, then rested it back on its massive paws, dismissing her as a non-threat. She smiled. The dog may have been the only creature not to deem her dangerous at first glance.

The three mages chattered like birds on a window sill as they made their way to the tower. They admired Skyhold, and Astlyr. They asked her questions about being a qunari in Fereldan. About her family, and did she follow the qun? Astlyr did her best not to be annoyed. She wished that word would get around that she was Tal-vashoth so she would stop having to explain to people that she didn't want to collar and cut out the tongues of mages.

One of the women also set up a steady stream of flirtation with Cullen, which clearly made the man extremely uncomfortable and Astlyr had to try not to laugh. When he finally managed to dislodge his admirer for a few moments he snarled to Astlyr, “you owe me!” She chuckled at him and he glared icily.

Astlyr had not spent much time inside Skyhold's newest construction, the mage tower. It stood out impressively against the pale sky of the mountains. It was certainly smaller than most Circle towers. Not many of the mages of Skyhold kept up residence in the building. Rather it was used for study. Classrooms had been set up with special protective wards for the instruction of young, inexperienced mages. The few templars in the fortress were looked upon with a general goodwill rather than scorn or mistrust. They were all there because they had supported the mages in their bid for autonomy. They moved about freely in the tower, coming to the aid of the mages as needed. It was actually a very comfortable job, Cullen had commented ruefully.

The inside of the tower still had an unfinished look to some of the stones, and it smelled a bit too much like fresh, cold air in some places, where it had not been properly insulated before the snows. The fireplaces worked overtime to keep it heated, but as magical flame was always ready to hand, they did not use overmuch firewood.

The three newcomers stared around with wide eyes. For once seemingly struck dumb. A few senior mages, including Vivienne, greeted them. Astlyr couldn't tell if her elegant friend was pleased with the new additions, or if she wished the inquisition would stop taking in every person came to the door looking like an abandoned kitten. Perhaps a combination of both.

A quick tour was conducted, showing off classrooms and studies. A library was well on its way to being filled with a collection of tomes which seemed to be growing every day. Astlyr was impressed, which she freely admitted. The mages had already made several improvements to the place since the last time she had been there.

As she walked about, hands clasped loosely behind her back, enjoying the place, even if the crackle of magic around her did set her teeth on edge at times, she felt a tug on the back of her tunic. She turned around, then looked down. She smiled to herself. As a qunari she was always looking down to see people, but some people posed an even greater issue. She resisted the urge to take a knee as she greeted the dwarven woman who had gotten her attention, “Hello, Dagna,” she smiled warmly, “good to see you.”

“Good to see you as well, Inquisitor,” the dwarf beamed. Danga had a way of lighting up an entire room with her wide, uninhibited smile.

“Was there something that needed my attention, or did you simply wish to say hello?” Astlyr question.

“Both,” Dagna shrugged, her smiling slipping a bit. Very little managed to vex the dwarven artificer, so Astlyr leaned down slightly, giving her full attention.

Cullen managed to pry his arm from the grip of the mage woman who had taken a fancy to him, claiming in hurried tones that she had to discuss something with the dwarf as well. All three newcomers had stared openly at Dagna for several moments. One of them tutted something about 'overly inclusive policies at Skyhold,' but did so quietly.

Danga seemed briefly star-struck to be in the presence, not only of Astlyr, but also her famed military adviser. She cleared her throat, giddily nervous. “I just...I was wondering when that elvish spirit idol you found was going to come my way? I've been looking forward to studying it.”

“When what?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow, confused. “You mean that jade frog statue?”

“I suppose,” Dagna shrugged. “I heard that it was supposed to be delivered to the artifacts room, but I hadn't had a chance to check it right away. Then it wasn't there, so I figured it was still on its way. Only it has been a few weeks and I was wondering-”

“You mean that thing has been missing for almost a month?” Astlyr spoke more loudly than she intended and several nearby mages turned to see what was going on. She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper, “that artifact was suppose to be delivered here the same day we got it.” She turned to Cullen, “who was the mage in charge of bringing it here? They need to be questioned at once.”

“Right,” Cullen's expression had taken on the stone severity he often wore in battle. He glanced around, seeking Vivienne, who was most likely to know where any of the mages in the tower were located at any given time. Astlyr wished she could recall who exactly had taken the frog statue.

“Cullen, please gather Josephine, Guardswoman Jones, Morrigan, Cole and Cassandra in Josie's office. We have something more urgent to discuss than the queen's envoy.” Astlyr growled. She turned and left the tower, annoyance rising like hot coals in her throat. What was going on around her fortress without her knowing?

~~~~~~

“Alright, Morrigan. Where's the idol?” Astlyr demanded of the yellow eyed mage.

They had all assembled in Josephine's office, as ordered. Fortunately, by that time she had finished whatever conversations she had been having with the two queen's knights and had ushered them on their way to the tavern.

Cassandra leaned against the diplomat's desk, still sore from her wounds. She looked over the gathered group with the wisened eye of a military commander. Apprizing. Cullen paced and Guardswoman Jones looked extremely insecure. Cole stood in the corner, chin low so his hat concealed his eyes. Astlyr intended to use the spirit boy as a lie detector of sorts and he wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea, though he was willing enough. Beside Jones stood the mage who had been charged with bringing the frog idol to the tower. She looked ready to faint with nerves.

“Excuse me, but if you are going to accuse me of something, please do me the courtesy of giving me some information to go on,” Morriagan folded her arms, arching an elegant eyebrow.

“Let's back up,” Josie suggested. “See if we can trace what happened to this idol.”

“Alright,” Astlyr said, feeling as tightly coiled as a spring put under great pressure. This day had started out so well and gone down hill so precipitously, she thought bitterly as she scanned the faces of the assemblage. “We brought the idol back from that cave. We intended to use to to awaken Fen-” she checked herself before saying his full name, glancing uneasily at the mage and guardswoman. “We determined that the way the idol worked required something we did not feel comfortable sacrificing.”

“It wanted to kill spirits,” muttered Cole, darkly, “and turn them into energy against their will.”

“Right,” Astlyr went on, nodding to her young friend. “But we did want to study it, so I requested that it be sent to Danga the artificer, for her and her team to study. But now she tells me she never saw it. That it did not reach its destination. So. Where is it?”

“You believe that I have possession of it?” Morrigan asked, her voice as smooth as ever. Obviously unperturbed by the accusation.

“You are a likely candidate,” Astlyr said, eying the slender mage with ill concealed suspicion. 'You knew of the item, what it could do, and how to use it. You could easily go into the mage tower and take it, or waylay the one carrying it,” she turned to the young mage who had been standing with guardswoman Jones. She cowered when faced with the intimidating figure of Astlyr in such close quarters.

“I brought it to the tower, Lady Inquisitor, just as instructed. I left it in the artifact room.” the mage said in a high, tense voice. Astlyr caught Cole moving out of the corner of her eye, knowing the boy was concerned for the frightened mage. He did not go to her side, but hovered nearby, as though ready to intervene if Astlyr became too intense.

Astlyr stood back a bit, suddenly aware of how tall she was and a little self conscious. She shot Cole a look and after a moment he nodded. To the best of his knowledge the mage was telling the truth. “Alright,” Astlyr exhaled, “you are excused. Thank you for your help.”

The mage bobbed a bow to Astlyr and then to everyone else in the room before beating a hasty retreat. Astlyr turned her attention back to the others, brows knit together. “So, Morrigan. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Only that I am innocent of the theft,” the raven haired woman shrugged narrow shoulders. Her prominent collarbone made more pronounced with the motion. She was an angular woman. All sharp edges and cold lines. Astlyr wondered if some found her type beautiful. Then she shook off the thought as she stared down the confident mage, who continued, “I have had no contact with your silly little idol since that day when you foolishly refused to use it. I cannot help but notice you did find another way to awaken him,” she smirked.

Astlyr nodded, still scowling. “We did. But that does not change the facts before us. So you claim that you did not take the idol. The mage tells me that she delivered it to the tower. So where did it go?”

“I would have no way of knowing,” Morrigan answered, in as frosty a tone as ever. “I am hardly kept up to date on your dealings here in Skyhold, and I cannot be held responsible for your incompetence.”

Everyone on the room tensed, as though expecting Astlyr to fly into a qunari rage and attack the smart mouthed mage. But Astlyr had been expecting such an answer. She cut a glance at Cole, who was watching her from under the wide brim of his hate. “Cole, can you read her?”

The boy hesitated, then shook his head. “There is too much. A thousand voices fill her mind. A sea of songs, swimming and sweeping over her thoughts. Ancient ones with ancient knowledge crowd, though she doesn't know how to speak with them. If only I could speak with them,” he shook his head, as though trying to disengage from something, stepping back he raised his hands as if in warding. “I don't like her pain,” he muttered. “I can't help her.”

Now Astlyr did feel an anger rising, but she tamped it down as best she could. “Because of what happened at the well?”

“Yes,” Cole answered. “I can feel parts of her...I want power, and I want to understand things. Want to understand everything. Grasping, reaching, straining for understanding, but muffled by the voices,” Cole shook his head, a look coming over his face as though he had tasted something bitter.

“Well this is getting us no where,” grumbled Cullen. “If Morrigan does not have the idol, and it is not in the tower, where is it?”

“Would you submit to a search of your rooms?” Astlyr a dressed Morrigan with as much courtesy as she could muster.

“If I must,” Morrigan said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Alright,” Astlyr nodded. “I'll ensure that the guards are respectful of your possessions.

“How kind,” Morrigan smirked.

“If she does have the idol,” Cassandra pointed out, “it is unlikely that she would hide it in her rooms.”

Astlyr agreed with a sigh, “I know, but we should search anyhow, for thoroughness.”

“Why are we so concerned about the loss of this thing anyhow?” Cullen questioned.

“It is a magical artifact that can grant the user great power by manipulating Fade spirits,” Morrgain explained as though she thought Cullen a dullard. “It would be a very poor thing indeed if it should fall into the wrong hands.”

“And which hands are those?” Cullen raised an eyebrow. He had stopped his pacing at last and stood, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword in a posture Astlyr knew well.

“I can think of at least one person you might not wish to have access to it,” Morrigan said.

Astlyr wondered how the woman had heard of the Solas situation in the Emerald Graves, but she supposed the mage kept her ear to the ground. And when the Inquisitor and her party came back to Skyhold half dead, Morrigan would have been most eager to uncover how and why. Yet she did seem to have a better understanding than Astlyr might have guessed, and she felt her skin prickle. She narrowed her eyes, but let it pass for the moment. “Indeed,” she said instead, folding her arms. “This is why I wanted to speak to you, guardswoman,” she addressed Jones, who had been standing to one side looking uncertain as to why she had been summoned at all.

“Ma'am?” she asked, lifting her eyes with a wide innocence that was somehow refreshing.

“You told me that while you were giving the elf, Celwydd, a tour of Skyhold he managed to give you the slip while you were in the mage tower?”

“Oh Maker's balls,” moaned Cullen, running a hand frustratedly through his hair.

“Y'yes ma'am,” Jones shot the military commander, her commander, a sidelong and very uneasy glance.

“How long, exactly did you lose him for? Don't be afraid to answer honestly.,” Astlyr used the gentlest tone she could muster. She really did like the guardswoman and didn't want to frighten her so badly.

“I can make her forget the fear,” Cole offered. Jones looked at him uncertainly, but he rested a slender hand on her shoulder. “Forget,” he whispered. She straightened, her eyes suddenly confident and trusting.

Josie made a startled sound, “what did you do? Did you change her?”

Jones answered, shaking her head and looking slightly impressed, “Phew. That's quite a thing! No, he didn't change me. He just...I don't know what he did, but it certainly helped,” he tilted her chin up and looked Astlyr directly in the face with complete confidence. “We only thought him lost for a few minutes, but in truth none of us were keeping close track of the time. It may have been more like twenty.”

Astlyr nodded, “thank you, Jones. Your help is appreciated.”

“Glad I could help, ma'am. I'm sorry we lost him in the first place. I hope I can help again in finding this idol thingy.”

Astlyr stifled a chuckle at the woman's rough and comfortable speech. “We'll let you know, Jones.”

The guard made a quick bow then turned smartly and strode from the room. “And thank you, Morrigan. You may also go about your business for the day,” Astlyr said to the mage.

“Oh, you are too kind.” Morrigan turned and moved gracefully from the room. Cole darted out of her way as though afraid she might strike him.

Astlyr turned back to her people, the smile that had crossed her face fled it again when she saw their dire expressions. “We have no way of knowing who took the idol, or what they intend, but I think we can all agree we need better security on the artifacts room in the tower.”

“That is something we can be certain of,” Cullen mumbled, looked tense and frustrated.

“There's something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Astlyr said. She shot a glance at Cole. It had not been her intention to have him present for the Morrigan discussion. He met her eyes and she gave him a thin smile. “It's alright, Cole. Just don't spread this information around, alright.”

“I am good at keeping secrets,” the boy said, sitting down in one of Josie's chairs and tucking up his legs.

“Except when you fish in people's minds and tell everyone their pain,” Cassandra pointed out, not unkindly, but with a stern edge to her voice.

“That only means he would find out what we talked about anyway,” Astlyr pointed out, “as I'm certain we'll all be anxious about it.”

“Oh fine,” Cullen grumbled. He was obviously in a foul mood already and eager to just get on with the conversation.

Astlyr took as deep and cleansing a breath as she could muster and told them all what Fen'Harel had expressed to her. The concern over Morrigan and Mythal, and whatever connection they might share. By the end her advisers all looked exceedingly glum. Cole watched them from his chair as though he desperately wanted to help them forget the entire situation, but knowing that would be unhelpful in the long run. “Well?” Astlyr said, looking from face to face hopefully.

“We have no idea how connected she is to this elven goddess,” Josephine mused, “but Cole seemed to sense that she does hear voices because of it.”

“We've heard her make mention and use of it before,” Cullen agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “When we were looking for Coryphius she was able to help us with the knowledge she had gathered from the well.”

“So we are just accepting that the elven gods are real then?” Cassandra asked, dark eyes hooded as she leaned against the desk, seemingly giving Josie's carpet a thorough study.

“We have to believe something large and powerful is real. We can debate actual godhood all day, but something very old is definitely awake and wandering around. Possibly even in our own halls. We can only hope it doesn't intend us harm. Whatever these beings are.”

“One did try to murder you,” Cullen pointed out.

“So we can infer that they will try to kill us if we are in their proximity,” Astlyr almost chuckled. Cullen gave her a stern look. It was clear that he did not find his friends' near death experience at all amusing.

“What do we do about Morrigan?” Cassandra asked. “Tell her to leave Skyhold? Make her stay so we can keep an eye on her?”

Astlyr pondered for a long moment, watching the flames gutter in the ornate fireplace. She was relieved when Josephine spoke first. “I suggest we keep her here, and keep as many of our suspicions of her to ourselves as possible. However, she should be closely monitored. Perhaps by Cole, at all times. Lelianna took many of her best people with her when she left to become Divine, but we still have a spymaster and he may be able to advise us and give us personnel to monitor her.”

“Alright,” I suppose that is a better plan than nothing at all,” Astlyr shrugged. Then she realized that a shrug was probably not the best indication of her leadership ability. She squared her shoulders, preparing to give a more leaderly response, but her people were already moving off. Josephine was arranging papers on her desk and Cullen was walking with Cassandra out of the room.

She glanced at Cole, still sitting in the chair, watching the fire with an odd sort of fascination. She put a hand on his narrow shoulder and it took him a moment to look up at her. When he did there was a certain fondness in his eyes she wasn't used to from him. Normally he was distant a detached, but in that moment, with the firelight giving his pale face a strangely ruddy glow, he looked at her as though he was pleased that she was standing beside him. Then a tense expression clouded his features and he teleported away. She was left with her hand hovering where his shoulder had been, tingling with a cold waft of air from his departure.

Astlyr said her goodbyes to Josephine and left the room herself. Her mind was too busy to even think about what the queen's knights might have wanted. She would save that subject for tomorrow. She wondered if she should track Cole down, or if he was already getting to work spying on Morrgian's thoughts. She shuddered. She honestly hated doing that to someone. Both to Morrigan and to Cole. She felt as though she was setting Cole on the mage as though he was a dog and she a criminal. This was all going so poorly, she thought. Weren't things supposed to be easier during peacetime? Then again, perhaps this wasn't peace time after all. She rubbed her stiff leg. She knew she should probably visit Fen'Harel. She had more questions for him, but she was too mentally worn down by her day. Long fingers of red sunset light splashed through the high windows behind the Inquisitor's Throne in the main hall. Washing the room with a bloody sheen. She decided to find Varric and talk him into a few drinks and a good, one on one game of Wicked Grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been Astlyr's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day! Hopefully things will get better? You can find out right now because, as I said, you get ANOTHER whole chapter today! Aaaaaaaaw yis!


	12. SkyHold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised: another chapter just for you! Because I love you ;) No, no that way, pervs.  
> Last chapter Astlyr had a terrible day. What will happen to her next? Find out right now!!

Part 12  
SkyHold

“I suppose it really was for the best. He and I have been drifting apart for a while,” Astlyr sighed, letting her shoulders slump.

She was seated across from Dorian in a library alcove. The two were enjoying a quiet breakfast and trying to keep the subjects of conversation light. Astlyr wasn't certain if yesterday's breakup with Iron Bull counted as 'light', but she didn't shy from the subject when her mage friend had asked. He had seen Iron Bull in the infirmary when he went to have his bandages changed and said that the big qunari had been looking rather glum. Astlyr took some solace in this, though if she was honest, she was not tremendously broken up over the loss. It still hurt, like a splinter, stinging every now and again to remind her it was still there, under her skin.

“You told me you'd never been in love,” Dorian said, taking a bite of a warm piece of oatbread slathered in honey.

“Maker, Dorian, I thought we were keeping the subject light,” she reached with her foot and tapped his.

“M'gel, we almost saw the end of the world. This is as light as it gets,” he smirked, wiping honey from his mustache with a delicate motion. When Dorian was acting refined Astlyr often felt like she had just tumbled out of a pig sty. She absently dusted the front of her shirt, which was covered in crumbs, while his robes were immaculate.

“Alright, so love then. You've never been either,” she pointed out, smirking.

“In my defense I had thought I was a few times. Infatuations when I was young. A handsome serving lad or two. Dalliance behind the garden shed. Very seedy. Just the sort of thing to drive my father insane,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling.

“Did you do it to drive your father insane?” Astlyr questioned, selecting another pastry from the basket she had brought up from the kitchen. She passed one to her friend, as she knew it hurt him to bend down. He was not fully recovered from his injuries either.

“Well, that and companionship. You have no idea how empty and lonesome one of those big Tevinter houses can get.”

“I suppose not,” Astlyr said, thinking of the small, cozy cottage where she had grown up.

“Go one then,” Dorian was giving her a wolfish grin, “your seediest experience. Put me to shame!”

“You have an odd notion of my life before I came here,” Astlyr said, eyebrow raised.

“I know you've had a few,” he pressed, still grinning like a mad cat.

“Alright, fine,” she cast her eyes upward in thought. “While I was working as a mercenary there was this dwarf who fancied himself a Casanova.”

“Intriguing,” Dorian leaned forward slightly, resting chin on hands.

“He decided to set his sights on me. He'd never been with a qunari before.”

“Did he attempt to woo you?” Dorian raised pressed, impishly.

“Hah!” Astlyr's laugh was so loud that several other people studying nearby looked up and glared. Then they realized who she was and they hurriedly dipped their heads back over their books. “He walked right up to me and asked, ' hey Adaar, wanna shag?'”

It was Dorian's turn for a laugh of inappropriate volume. “And your reply?”

“Alright,” she quoted, her eyes watering with mirth as they both hooted with laughter.

“Oh Maker, ouch,” Dorian grimaced holding his ribs. “Don't make me laugh so hard!”

“I'm sorry,” she grinned, holding her own sides.

“No, you are not,” the mage chortled, massaging his side ruefully, “but I did ask.”

“You're right. You brought this on yourself,” she chuckled, bumping his foot again with hers. Her legs were long enough to easily span the space between their chairs for such a gesture. “Do you have your eyes on anyone here at Skyhold?” she asked her friend, refreshing the milk in both their glasses from a pitcher.

Dorian considered for a long moment. “Not for true love, if that's what you're asking,” he smirked.

“For a seedy dalliance then?' she asked.

“That new templar fellow seems nice enough,” Dorian said, his tone slightly softer, with a note of seriousness.

“The one that came in yesterday?” Astlyr questioned, “I didn't know you'd met him.”

“I happened to be getting my bandages changed when he was brought to the infirmary, and let me tell you, by the way he was admiring my well sculpted bare chest, he knows a man of breeding when he sees one.”

“You caught him staring?” Astlyr snickered.

“I did,” Dorian puffed himself up a bit, then winced, slouching back down to a more comfortable position.

“Well, I can tell you that man must be the Maker's own saint to handle the mages he came in with,” Astlyr said.

“Troublesome were they?”

“I'd have gone crazy trying to lead them to Skyhold. Did you get a chance to speak with your admirer?”

“A bit. I chatted to him while they finished up my bandages, and I stayed as they fixed him up. Mostly he was exhausted, however, and needed sleep, poor lad.” Dorian smiled. “His name is Titus and he's from the Markham circle. Nasty business what happened there, by the sound of it.”

“Do you suppose that happened a lot?” Astlyr questioned. “The mages who didn't want the rebellion to succeed turning on their fellows?”

“I imagine it did,” Dorian nodded a little sadly.

Astlyr met her friend's eyes, “I know the rebellion was already well on its way to freeing the mages and disbanding the circles, and I was only the final nail in the coffin, but...do you think I made the right choice?”

“I'm hardly the person to ask,” Dorian shrugged. “In Tevinter we don't have circles like you do. I know how Madame Vivienne feels about it.”

“She was never exactly pleased about it,” Astlyr said with a wry half smile. “I don't know if she would have turned on her fellow circle mages, given the chance.”

“I can't see her doing that,” Dorian said, settling back in his chair. “Too messy.”

“I suppose,” Astlyr chuckled dryly.

“Inquisitor, here you are,” Josephine walked up to them, writing board clasped in her hands, all business. “I had a few things I needed to discuss with you.”

Astlyr gestured to a pile of pillows beside the window in the library nook, “you're welcome to join us. We're having breakfast, have you eaten?”

“Er...no, but-” Josie looked uncomfortable, glancing from the qunari to the mage and back.

“Oh stop torturing the poor dear,” Dorian said, rising slowly from his chair. “Here, take mine.”

“Sit,” Astlyr commanded her friend. “If you try to sit down on those pillows you'll never be able to get back up again.” The qunari stood, gesturing that the diplomat should take her chair. “I trust you don't have anything to report that Dorian can't hear?”

The scholarly woman considered for a moment, then smiled, shaking her head. She gingerly sat down in Astlyr's abandoned chair. “No, I do not believe so. I imagine the inner circle will all be informed eventually. I wanted to come to you first, of course, as at least one of these matters pertains to you personally.”

“Alright,” Astlyr held the jug of milk up to Dorian who chilled it with an ice spell before Astlyr poured some into a cup for Josie. “What's going on in that big, wide world that pertains to me?” she asked, though she suspected she knew. Those two knights from the queen were still hanging around like a bad cold you couldn't seem to get out of your system.

“Well, the first matter is more broad,” Josephine explained, scanning her papers intently. “I have received reports that several major slave markets in Tevinter have been raided. These raids have resulted in the freeing of hundreds of slaves, as well as a large loss of life on the part of slavers, guards and auction attendees.”

“Hundreds of slaves freed?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. “Elvish slaves?”

“A majority were, I imagine,” Dorian answered. “We do keep human slaves in Tevinter, but usually its elves. Smaller. Easier to control.”

“Charming,” Josephine muttered.

“I never said I was in favor,” Dorian put in quickly. “I was raised primarily by a slave woman, and after knowing her, I would never think imposing slavery on another was a good idea.”

Astlry reached over and gave Dorian's knee a squeeze, “I know. Don't worry. I never figured you for the slave owning type.”

“I really don't fit in Tevinter at all,” he mused, giving her a sad smile.

Astlyr turned back to Josephine, “is Tevinter requesting aid from the Inquisition?”

Dorian made a sound that was half laugh half snort, “Not likely.”

“No, they are not,” Josephine affirmed. “They wish to keep the matter internal. We have no evidence, other than the attacks involved freeing a large number of elves, that this had anything to do with the movements of these 'eleven gods', but our spies thought it worthy of our attention none the less.”

“They were right to bring it up,” Astlyr nodded. “We should keep an eye out for any odd behavior from our nearby Dalish tribes as well. And let's continue to get updates on Tevinter slave issues. I'd like to see if this progresses.”

“Of course,” Josephine made several notes with quick motions, the feather plume of her pen flouncing back and forth.

“Well, that was easy. I think I like being the Inquisitor today,” Astlyr grinned at her friends. “Alright, Josie, hit me with the other subject that needed my attention.”

“Now we must discuss the information that those knights from the queen wished to impart,” the diplomat said, and she selected several papers from her stack. A few of the papers were small, curled slips having clearly been tied to the legs of messenger birds. These kept trying to roll away and Dorian finally offered to hold a few between bouts of chuckling.

Astlyr slouched on the pillows, feeling a creeping annoyance at the remembrance of the self important envoy. Still, she knew that Josie would have thoroughly vetted their tidings and brought only what mattered to her leader. She also felt a spike of curiosity in her mind. Previously it seemed that the royal couple had little care for what they did at Skyhold, so long as the rifts got closed and threats got dealt with. “Am I in trouble?” Astlyr asked.

Josephine smiled, “not exactly. The queen wishes to gift you with an arling. Or rather, she means to make Skyhold and the surrounding area a new arling and you're to rule it, as arlessa and Inquisitor.”

Dorian choked on his milk. Astlyr laughed too loudly again and several people stood up and left with annoyed muttering. “Arlessa Astlyr Adaar?” Dorian sputtered, wiping milk from his chin.

“Cole could appreciate the alliteration,” Astlyr pointed out, dabbing a tear of laughter from her eye with her knuckle. “Seriously, Josie. She really wants to do that?”

“Of course,” Josephine, for her part, was looking confused and a little annoyed that her news was met with such amusement. “I have also had word from the Divine Victoria,” she pressed on.

“Oh, Lelianna, what does she have to say,” Astlyr tried to straighten her face, to little avail.

“She got word of the queens plans. I'm not certain how, but I suspect her network of spies is as active as ever,” Josephine explained, she unrolled one of the tiny bits of parchment. “She informs us that the queen intended to merely make you a bann, but that would place you under the jurisdiction of the Arl of Redcliff.”

“Wait, this isn't a joke? The queen really wants to slap a title on me? Inquisitor and resident qunari badass isn't enough for her?”

“Seemingly not,” Josie took Astlyr's glibness in stride. She had plenty of experience dealing with it. “Lelianna convinced the queen to move the rank up to arl, and to declare the area around Skyhold a new arling.”

“Won't that rub a few people the wrong way?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. “I'm not much for this politics business, but don't people live here in the Frostbacks, and might they mind if I am suddenly arling it over them?” Dorian made another choking laugh at her use of arling as a verb. She shot him an appreciative glance.

Josie looked as though she was regretting allowing the mage to stay and listen to their conversation. She aimed a glare at him, then doggedly continued. “The native people are called the Avvar. You met a few of them, I believe. Very tribal. One of them threw a goat at our walls.”

“I remember him!” Astlyr sat up slightly as the memory came to her. “Decent man, when he wasn't hurling livestock. As I recall I send him to fight Tevinter.”

“Indeed,” Josephine nodded, marking something with her pen. “At the present time, we at Skyhold have an army sufficient to quash any rumblings from the Avvar tribes on the mountain. And I suspect your rule as arlessa will not be terribly strict. I doubt many of them will notice the difference.”

“I don't want to quash anyone,” Astlyr said, starting to feel annoyed. “Why is Queen Anora doing this? What's her end game?”

“Control, I expect,” Dorian supplied. “If she gives you a proper title, then you fall under her rule and she can have some say in what you do.”

“I also suspect it has something to do with keeping Skyhold in Ferelden control in the future,” Josephine added, pen poised mid scribble. “I imagine she does not expect you to produce an heir.”

“Well that's presumptuous,” Dorian scoffed.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Astlyr sighed. “I've only met one qunari I wasn't related to, and I just broke it off with him, though the queen could hardly know that.” If she was honest, she had no idea if she could breed with other species. Both her patents had been of the qunari race, so she had always assumed she could only reproduce with one of her own kind.

“You and Iron Bull?” Josie looked up, her liquid brown eyes suddenly filled with sympathy.

“In this instance, I'd rather we go back to talking about politics,” Astlyr said, and her expression must have been severe enough to coax the diplomat back from the relationship conversation precipice.

“Right,” Josephine wrinkled her delicate nose, as though still baffled by the news of her leader's recent breakup. “Erm...” she seemed to have lost her thread and she glanced down at her notes. Astlyr idly wondered if the woman kept a transcript of every conversation she she heard. Perhaps later Astlyr would convince Cole to borrow Josie's writing board. “Yes. An heir. She suspects you are unlikely to produce an heir. If you remain merely an inquisitor, you may choose your successor, if there is a need for one. How long do qunari live?”

“I'm not sure,” Astlyr admitted. “My parents both died of an illness.”

Josephine clucked her tongue in brief sympathy for Astlyr deceased family, then continued, “if you were an arl, then things get muddy. The queen could have a great deal of say in who your successor might be.”

“Right,” Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck. “So...is this arl thing something we want?”

“Well,” Josephine said, considering. “The Inquisition was born of war, and while we are currently offering a service to the people in the area, it is uncertain how much longer such a military installment will be necessary.”

“But I could go back to being a nobody after this?” Astlyr questioned, suddenly struck with a tempting thought. “I could go back to my old life?”

“You, M'gel, will never be a nobody again,” Dorian assured her, and there was such sincerity in his voice that Astlyr felt her heart tug.

“I do not know what is in store for the Inquisition,” Josephine met Astlyr's eyes. “The stability of a title may grant us the ability to remain, and to continue to do good for the people here. Not to mention keep control over a very tactically placed military installment, should Orlais ever attempt to move eastward.”

“True,” Astlyr pondered, casting her eyes towards the ceiling. She shook her head as though trying to shake off a pesky fly, “this is too strange. Can you see me as an arlessa? Some stuffy, overdressed lady? I don't think so, Josie.”

Dorian sat forward, a clever look flashing in his eyes. “Reply to the queen. Tell her Astlyr won't take anything less than the title of Teyrn.”

“The female version is Teyrna,” Josie corrected him. She was smiling broadly and already writing.

“Wait, wait, what is going on?” Astlyr raised her hands.

“You're demanding the highest state of lord-hood besides declaring yourself queen,” Dorian smirked. “It'll rankle the Anora to no end. If she does give it to you, which she won't, you'll have a lot more control and she'll have less say in what you do, and even whom you chose as your successor.”

“But she won't give it to me,” Astlyr stated rather than asked.

“It is highly unlikely,” Josephine reassured her.

“Well, alright then,” Astlyr shrugged, feeling baffled, but somehow accomplished. “Maybe I'm not so bad at these politics after all. If this did work I could go from peasant to high ranking lady in no time,” she smirked.

“You stopped being a peasant the day you hoisted that cracking great sword over your head in front of everyone in Skyhold,” Dorian pointed out. “You remember. They all cheered. You got your very first title, that of Inquisitor; and the rest is history.”

“Really strange history,” Astlyr chuckled. “Did you need me for anything more Josie?”

“No,” the woman shook her dark curls, still grinning. Adorable dimples formed on her cheeks when she smiled. “I shall inform Sers Roderkick and Oswyn of your decision and send them on their way.”

“Alright then, you two. I best be off. I have important Inquisitor tasks to perform.” Astlyr rose, straightening her tunic as though it were a uniform.

“Fixing privies?” Dorian asked, reaching for a nearby book.

“People need privies,” she shrugged expressively. “Thanks for the talk, Dorian,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.

He covered her hand with his and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, “any time you need to talk to someone about your past exploits, I'm your man.”

Josephine looked up for a moment, then shook her head and went back to her work without comment. Astlyr turned to her diplomat friend, “always a pleasure, Josie. Keep me apprized of my lordly status.”

Josephine looked ready to correct Astlyr on her use of the term 'lord', but seemingly again decided it was not worth the trouble. She smiled brightly instead, “I will.”

Astlyr made her way down from the library and out into the open, snowy courtyard of Skyhold. The snow was mostly trodden down and well shoveled. Sand and straw had been spread to keep traction in icy places. Astlyr looked her fortress over with a pleased expression. It felt like the place was really coming together at last. What a pity it waited until the war was over to do it. Above her the Inquisition banners flapped in the cold winter breeze, from which she was protected by the high stones of her home.

Nearby she could hear the horses nattering to one another in their rumbling horse speech. She pondered stopping to visit Smoke and give him some attention, but she was expected to meet the building and repair team soon, so she decided to make her way towards the forge. Then she spotted him. A lonesome, slender figure with an overlarge hat. Cole's head was tipped back, his eyes closed. He was standing near an internal wall and swaying slowly.

She walked over to her friend, watching him for a long moment. He didn't seem to be in distress, but she had never seen him look quite this way before. “Are you alright?” she finally asked, keeping her voice soft.

The spirit boy blinked his pale eyes open, turning his baleful glance to her. Even though she was used to Cole's constant look of profound sadness, it still sometimes caught her by surprise. She bit back a worried comment, instead letting him answer her. “I am listening to Morrigan,” he said, shaking his blond hair down over his eyes, his hat flopping.

“Anything new?” she asked, hands on her hips. She stared at the wall, which she guessed the mage must be on the other side of, as if she might see through it if she tried hard enough.

“It's still crowded,” Cole admitted. “I can catch bits. Fleeting like footprints in the falling snow. Yellow eyes that see what I cannot see in her. I want to go nearer, creep closer in her mind, but the other voices shut me out. I am unwelcome.”

“So nothing new then?” Astlyr felt her lips twitch in a smile.

“No,” Cole answered, clearly sensing she thought his answer somehow humorous, though he did not understand why. “I will keep trying.”

“Is it hard on you?” Astlyr questioned. “To have to focus on one person's pain?”

“I take breaks,” the boy admitted, looking down at his pale hands. They looked so cold, ungloved as they were. Astlyr had to remind herself again that he did not feel the temperature. She resisted the urge to try to warm them. He tilted his head to the side, watching her suddenly. “You are sad,” he pointed out.

“I expect I am. Most people are sad at least some of the time.” She shrugged.

“I thought he loved me. Thought I was finally wanted, but it wasn't true. Cut adrift again, like always. I am an amusement, not a person. I please them and then they grow weary of me. I miss the way he would make me feel. How she would run his tongue-”

“Whoa, Cole!” Astlyr stopped him, clamping her hand over his mouth, “sweet heart, no! I have told you about describing people's sex lives out loud. People...really don't like it.” she took her hand away and he looked contrite.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's alright,” she said unable to keep her lips from twitching in a thin smile. “I imagine you know that Iron Bull and I are no longer together.”

“You were growing apart from him,” Cole said, his tone as level as ever. “You are sad that you and he do not mean the same as you did before. He still loves you, but not in the way you want to be loved.”

“That's true,” she admitted, wondering if she should leave this conversation before it strayed back into embarrassing territory. Her time with Iron Bull had been...intense and highly sexual.

“You want someone who loves your mind,” Cole pointed out.

“I suppose I do,” she gave him a wan look. “I have no idea who that person is. I hope I find him before I get too old and look even more terrifying than I already do.” she chuckled.

“Cullen wants to kiss you.”

“What?” she spluttered out the word and a passing workman looked up. She gave him a glare and he hurried on his way, head down.

“Cullen wants to kiss you,” Cole repeated as though she had not heard him. “But he is afraid. He doesn't usually like women who are taller than him. You intimidate him.”

“Oh really?” she raised an eyebrow.

“I don't understand why people care so much about height,” Cole admitted, looking at her with his pale eyes. He could look so young some times, she thought. “Varric is the shortest of all, and everyone likes him.”

“This is true,” Astlyr nodded.

“I like that you're tall,” the boy pressed on, and was it her imagination or did he look a bit less depressed? “It means you're strong. Strong arms fold around me, carry me. Make the pain less. She guides, guards, grows in greatness. We need s strong leader, they said, and then she was there and she was better than what they wanted.”

She felt herself blush at the praise. “I suppose that is also true. Thank you for the information, Cole. And if Cullen wants to kiss me, well he can just get over himself first,” she smirked.

Cole seemed confused by this statement. “I could make him forget that he cares about height,” he said, though his tone was tentative, as though he knew the answer he would receive.

“No, Cole. He needs to come around to it himself, if he ever does.”

“You like him too,” Cole pointed out, earnestly.

“I do,” she nodded, pondering her interactions with the human. “He's a good warrior with a brilliant military mind.”

“And he's kind.”

“Kind?”

“He forgave the mages,” Cole spoke rapidly, pulling a memory from the air, “The mages have turned, changed, twisted into something cruel. They imprison me. They hurt me, they hurt me, they hurt me! Fingers like knives clawing into my mind. But I forgive. Not all mages have faces that twist into evil masks. I must understand. I must trust them again,” he stopped, blinking as though slightly dazed, then tilted his head up to look at Astlyr. “You like that's he's kind. It matters to you because you like people. Cassandra thinks you're too inclined to like people. You wish Cullen would show his kindness more,” Cole said, picking some dirt from under a finger nail absentmindedly.

“How is it you know my mind better than I know it myself?” she asked, her eyes wrinkling at the corners as she smiled fondly down at the boy.

“Most people don't know their own minds. That's why I help,” he answered. “I like that kind of helping best. Help people to see what they didn't know they knew.”

“I think you're at your best when you help like that,” Astlyr confirmed, smiling. Then she looked back at the wall. “Are you going to keep listening to Morrigan?”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “I have been listening all morning. I am going to go speak with Fen'Harel for a while.”

“Fen,” she reminded the spirit. “Call him Fen.”

“Yes,” Cole nodded, looking distant. “I need to discuss...something with Fen.”

“Alright,” Astlyr tilted her head. “You'd know, wouldn't you, if he was trying to take control of you, or something sinister?”

“Of course,” Cole answered, his hand straying to touch the amulet he wore. “I go to him because he was Solas, and Solas was my friend. He was helping me understand myself. I still don't understand completely, so I want to see him again, and talk with him.”

Astlyr had a thought, “When Solas left without saying goodbye, were you afraid, Cole? Afraid that you would never completely understand yourself?”

His shoulders stiffened, “My pain doesn't matter.”

“Of course it does,” Astlyr said, gently, reaching out and touching his slim arm. It even felt like the arm of a teenage boy. Boney, with true muscle beginning to form. Would he remain like this forever? Never growing older? She suspected he would. She wondered what sort of man the original Cole would have become before he had been left to die in the dark.

“I was afraid,” Cole admitted. “I thought of returning to the Fade, but I stayed. I stayed because I knew I was safe. Because I knew I had you.”

It suddenly felt as though he had punched her in the sternum. So much trust all heaped on her. Most of the time she was able not to think about it. How much trust her men put in her. How little she felt she deserved it. She had literally been lucked into the position of Inquisitor. Stumbling in on a blood ritual where she was never even supposed to be. Because of a mark on her hand she was put in charge. Because of religious beliefs that she didn't even share, she was elevated in people's minds.

“Because of your actions, your friends follow you,” Cole cut into her thoughts midstream as though he had been listening along. She supposed he had.

She closed her eyes, taking a moment to feel the winter sun on her face. Warm, even in the midst of all the snow. She breathed a few cleansing breaths, feeling the icy air fill her lungs. It was surprisingly refreshing. When he opened her eyes Cole was still standing before her, wringing his hands, as he sometimes did when he was agitated. “I'm sorry,” he said, and he sounded it. “I can make you forget,” he reached up towards her.

She caught his hand before it reached her, “no no, Cole. Thank you.”

“I can make you forget just the feeling. Just the being overwhelmed,” he offered again, though he did not try to free his hand from her grip.

She gave this some consideration. It would be nice to have this clawing anxiety out of her head before she went about her day. She knew from seeing Cole work that his magics could be very noninvasive when he wanted. He could merely tip a scale. Start someone down the path of healing. She met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. She wasn't certain if she had ever been 'helped' by Cole in this way before. Had he ever made her forget without her knowing? Before the two of them were close friends? Before she could always see him?

Her hand fell away from his, and his fingers found her jaw, resting there with the lightness of a morning breeze. “I will be gentle,” he reassured her. There was a rush in her mind. A moment when all her thoughts became jumbled into a tight knot, then suddenly loosened into a thousand separate strands again. He took his hand away, giving her a wan smile. “I didn't take much,” he reassured her. “Just enough to help you.”

If she was honest she didn't feel all that different, but as she thought she knew that a certain, cloying stress was lifted from her. She still felt a bit uncertain about her worthiness and her people's loyalty, but it no longer weighed on her shoulders like a massive stone. She smiled at Cole. “Thank you. I wish I could make you feel better too.”

“You do,” he smiled back at her in the most genuine way he knew, which at best made him look like he wasn't about to burst into tears. “Now I must go. I have only a short time before I must listen to Morrigan again.”

“Thank you, Cole,” she said before he could teleport away.

“Thank you-” he said, in that earnestly genuine way he always had of thanking anyone. As if she had just saved his life, “for letting me help.” Then he was gone, leaving behind only a puff of cool air and his memory.

Astlyr smiled and shook her head, beginning her walk toward the forge once again, certain that her building team had given her up and gone about their tasks without her. Instead she found them still gathered and speaking together in urgent voices. They looked up as she entered and hurriedly enfolded her into their conversation. “Inquisitor, good that you're herr! Rogers found something this morning, ma'am, that is quite alarming.”

“Alarming how?” Astlyr asked, looking over the group trying to recall which one was Rogers. Finally a dwarf stepped forward. There were not many dwarves in Skyhold, but more had come when it was clear that there were jobs to be had. Especially surface dwarves, unwelcome in the subterranean city of Orzammar.

“Ma'am,” the dwarf dipped his head in acknowledgment of being called upon by the inquisitor. “I was walking the walltops just this morning and I found that a section of the Northern wall is beginning to dip downwards. Now it is only a slight grade at the moment,” he gestured for calm with his hands, though no one seemed inclined to panic. “I believe there may be a cave, or natural pocket, below that section of wall, which will eventually give way and cause the wall to fall into it...and subsequently off of it.”

“Off of it?” Astlyr questioned, then she took a moment to visualize the north wall. Skyhold made an excellent military outpost because it perched atop an impassible cliff face on three sides. To siege the fortress an enemy would need the ability to fly, or he would have to come by way of Skyhold's southern main-gate. If the northern wall collapsed it would fall down, and down some more. Tumbling off of the mountain in a sheer drop, and likely further damaging the tenuous foundation of the fortress at the same time. “Well...shit,” Astlyr muttered.

A young elven man spoke up, “If the wall were to collapse, it would likely take the guard tower with it as well at the very least. And perhaps a sizable chunk of the courtyard on that side.”

“Maker's balls,” Astlyr breathed. Some of the men chuckled. They liked it when she swore. It made her feel like one of them instead of an intimidating figurehead.

“We've still got time,” Rogers the dwarf assured her. “We just need to get down there and find out exactly what sort of cave we're dealing with. Then we can decide what to do about the problem from there.”

“Can we shore it up?” Astlyr questioned.

“Ma'am, I was born in Orzammar,” Rogers gave her a sage look, folding his arms over his chest, and subsequently over his impressive beard, “and before I left I used to work with the repair and tunneling crews. I'll bet you surfacers thought we dwarves had stopped digging. Hah! For us, excavation is as natural as breathing.”

“Get on with it!” someone called from the group. A laugh rippled through it and Rogers looked annoyed, but soldiered on.

“I know all about keeping tunnels and caves from collapsing, even if a darkspawn should take a fancy to having a raucous party down there.” he wore a proud smile.

“Excellent. Glad we have you,” Astlyr gave Rogers a resounding clap on his back, which almost toppled him completely. He gave her a hearty laugh, rubbing ruefully at his shoulder, “remind me never to make you angry ma'am. You happy is almost more than my poor old bones can bear.”

“How do we get down to the cave?” asked one of the workmen, sounding uneasy. “Do we try to dig down from the inside?”

“Mayhap,” Rogers said, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Now that I think on it, no one has ever seen the outside of that wall, have they? No one except the messenger birdies.”

“So we climb down the wall to the cliff below and see what we can see?” Astlyr clarified, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice. She loved rock climbing, always had. She had no fear of heights and the thought of rappelling down to investigate a cave on a cliff-side sounded just like the sort of excitement she needed.

“You are right, indeed,” said Rogers, grinning. Or at least she suspected he was. It was difficult to tell behind a mustache that would have made Dorian jealous.

“Gather the climbing gear and the necessary men we'll need,” she said, grinning broadly herself. “We'll have this wall issue figured out in no time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No lie, my favorite thing to write thus far has been Astlyr and Dorian bantering. Every strong leader needs a sassy gay friend! These two together, Maker help us! Sass levels are reaching new heights! Aaaaand what about this Cullen thing? Dun dun duuuuuuun! When I'm not tweaking the lore I am messing with LI's. I honestly meant to have her stick with Iron Bull, but man, she just doesn't fit with him. Even while I was playing the game they only ever seemed like an okay couple. Never a forever sort of thing.  
> What do you guys think? As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) I love hearing from you!  
> Next chapter: 2/26/15


	13. Under the Fortress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I could blame work for being hella busy, but instead I'll blame Astlyr for making this a longer chapter. See, I wanted to end the chapter, but she wanted to keep exploring. You try and reason with a qunari, even one as civil as Astlyr! I feel like this slowdown made me edit faster and there are going to be so many spelling errors. Oh well. Anyway, we have it here, ready for 'yall. Read on, gentle readers!

Part 13  
Under The Fortress

“Are you certain about this?” Cullen asked. He was standing with Astlyr atop the Skyhold's north wall examining the small dip that was indeed forming there. It was hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it. Now that she was kneeling, studying where some of the stones were beginning to buck together, she knew that Rogers the dwarf had been correct. This was something that needed to be dealt with, and soon.

“I am,” she nodded to her human companion. Cullen leaned out to examine the sheer drop from the outer wall. The snowy ground below was obscured by a white mist, or were they low clouds? His brows came together, but he said nothing more. He had heard tales, no doubt, of the inquisitor's propensity for rock climbing. Several times on their adventures her own team and simply stood back and watched as she scaled cliff sides. “We have strong ropes and safety measures that will be in place,” she reassured him.

“I feel so much better about this,” he muttered sarcastically. “You have your supplies? Torches, water? Spider venom antidote?”

“We do,” Astlyr nodded, gesturing to a traveling pack on her back, almost concealed by the shield she wore like a shell. “And a light lunch, in case we find something and are there longer than expected.”

“Good.” he said, though his voice was quiet and he didn't look up at her. He hesitated a moment, “Well...I have things to attend to.” He turned and headed down the wall steps.

Astlyr leaned on her elbows over the inner ramparts, eyes scanning the preparations below. She watched the warrior stop to examine the ropes. Was it her imagination, or was there a reddish tint to his hair in the winter sunlight? He turned and strode into Skyhold without looking back at her. She wondered if he was not eager to watch her launch herself off of a wall, and subsequently an extremely high cliff. A half smile tugged the corner of her mouth. She remembered Cole's comment about Cullen wanting to kiss her. She shook her head. Obviously he didn't want it too badly, and she wasn't certain how she felt about it anyway. She hadn't really considered him in that way before. Well, she admonished herself, once, when they had first met, she had attempted to flirt and he had shot her down so utterly that she let the notion leave her mind. Perhaps he felt differently now, but did she?

“The ropes are ready, Ma'am!” called one of the men below her. Thick, long, ropes with leather harnesses had been laid out on the snow to ensure there were to tangles or frays. She made her way down the steps, looking over the party that intended to accompany her. There was Rogers the dwarf, of course, and two other workmen. A young elf named Timmon and a human called Christopher. Both enjoyed climbing and were eager for the challenge. She had also asked Guardswoman Jones along. Astlyr knew that they would likely encounter spiders of impressive size in any cave they might find, and it would be a good idea to have someone more experienced with a sword. She thought of asking Blackwall, but she knew he hated heights and she wanted to give Jones more in the field experience. That, and she knew the man was eager to get out to the nearest village to help out the people there still struggling with the snow.

Astlyr had selected a new sword and shield for herself from the well stocked armory, though they felt strange in her hands. She recalled her old sword, how she had left in stuck in the leg of a gigantic monster. She supposed it was an honorable enough way to lose one's weapon, but she still missed it. She missed her shield more. She had had it made special for her. The one she used now was almost too small. The straps were adjusted as far as they would go to accommodate her arm.

As she knelt to check over the harness she would be using, a voice got her attention. “Inquisitor?”

She looked up to find Fen'Harel standing before her, with Myfanwy a little behind him, watching with interest. “What can I do for you?” she asked, standing up and feeling suddenly as though she towered over the man. Elves were so short, she thought ruefully and she planted her hands on her hips.

“I was merely curious,” Fen'Harel said, his eyes drifting over the ropes and harnesses, as well as the blade and shield strapped to Astlyr's back. “I take it you are going climbing?”

“I am,” she said. She told him of her plans for the day. She could see no harm in letting him know why she was about to suspend herself over a cliff.

When she had finished Fen'Harel nodded. “I see. May I make the request to accompany you?” he asked.

“What?” she raised an eyebrow, “why?”

“Skyhold is an elvhen place. Created by The People to be nearer to their gods. Humans later discovered it and made changes to it. I believe that there are entire sections of Skyhold as yet undiscovered by us, the current residents. Places which may even lead to information about the elves of old...and the gods they worshiped.” he explained, looking up at her with an earnest, open expression.

“Oh Maker,” Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck and groaned. She wished that Cullen was still out there. She needed a voice of reason before she decided whether to bring a potentially dangerous person with her into a definitely dangerous situation. She looked him over. He was a mage, and they might encounter wards, or worse, if they found a cave. On the other hand, it would be a an excellent opportunity for him to kill her and make it look accidental. She could take one of her other mages. She didn't know many of them well, and Dorian was still recovering from his wounds. She didn't want to mention this expedition of Viv. She knew the enchanter would immediately deem her insane, and insist that someone else go, rather than the leader of Skyhold.

“If my lord goes, I go,” Myfanwy spoke up. To Astlyr's surprise she looked excited. Perhaps she too loved a good climb.

“Go easy on the 'my lord' stuff, Myfanwy. Especially out here where people can hear you. You two are really putting me in a tough place here,” Astlyr grumbled. Fen'Harel may have been correct. There could be elven ruins to explore, and who better to have with them than a man who might have been alive when those ruins were new? She found she also wanted to trust Myfanwy. The woman had stood up for herself, and what she believed, in the face of swords, intimidating qunari, and Sera's murder attempts. Astlyr desperately wanted to believe that Myfanwy was on her side. Then Astlyr caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye. A small figure standing alone by a wall. “Cole!” she called.

He popped into being before her with a rush of icy air, “yes Astlyr?”

“I know you have trouble reading Fen because of that deep, old sadness you told me about.”

“Yes,” said Cole, watching her from under the wide brim of his hat.

“But could you tell if he meant to harm me?” she asked.

Cole seemed to consider this for a moment. He stared at Fen'Harel and to Astlyr's surprise the god looked away first. “I believe I could,” Cole answered her.

“You could certainly tell if Myfanwy meant to harm me?”

“Oh yes,” Cole's mouth twitched in a slight smile. Obviously pleased that there was something he could easily succeed at.

“Alright,” Astlyr said, feeling as though she really should not be left alone to make decisions on her own. “The two of you may accompany us. Myfanwy, you and I will go to the armory and retrieve your bow.”

“May I have a staff?” asked Fen'Harel.

“No,” Astlyr said, perhaps a bit too frostily.

“I can cast magic without a staff,” the mage-god pointed out, though there was no threat in his words.

“I know,” Astlyr nodded, “but the staff helps. Perhaps not having one will slow you down enough that I might be able to kill you before you kill me.”

Fen'Harel did not bother to tell her that he did not intend to kill her. He merely nodded, fixing her with his sky colored eyes. Astlyr instructed Cole to keep watch over Fen while she and Myfanwy went to the armory. When they returned, the elf's elegant bow now hanging from her shoulder, Astlyr introduced her climbing team to the new members. As none of them knew much about Fen'Harel or Myfanwy, they nodded and greeted the newcomers. Some did shoot a few suspicious glances at Cole, however. Astlyr smiled. These fellows had no idea which individual deserved their fear. Cole was as dangerous to them as a hug, while they should all be worried about the self proclaimed god standing in their midst.

More ropes and harnesses were gathered and laid out. Then the group set about anchoring the ropes. As this was being done Astlyr procured a few more packs of supplies for the new members of the expedition. By this point onlookers had gathered in the courtyard, curiously watching the goings on and eagerly chattering to one another. Many of the peasants pointed out the Inquisitor, telling their friends how they had seen her in the great hall, or eating at the pub. As if proximity brought them some kind of celebrity. It confused Astlyr, but she supposed if it made them happy, who was she to stop them?

Astlyr and her company climbed the wall steps and fastened themselves into their harnesses. As she check the buckles on her own Astlyr felt a rush of excitement that she hadn't felt in a while. Like she might feel when charging a dragon's territory. She took in a big breath of frigid mountain air. Her lungs were a little displeased with this, but she ignored the tightness and beamed a big smile to her fellows. Even Cole was going with them using the ropes. He had explained that he could not teleport somewhere he was not certain existed, and he had never seen that side of Skyhold well enough to determine if there was a cave or not.

Rogers was talking and Astlyr tried to pay attention, “best case scenario, it is a cave, and it is man made. Perhaps an unexplored part of the fortress. That'll mean it might be accessible from inside Skyhold itself, and it will be easy to shore up. Worst case, it's not a cave at all. Part of the mountain is just sloughing off, and before you know it the whole structure will side right down with it. Not much we can do about that.”

“Let's hope for the best then,” Astlyr said, extremely pleased that the dwarf had not voiced his concerns down on the ground where the onlookers could hear him. Even the thought that her beloved fortress could easily find itself tumbling from its perch didn't dampen her mood as Astlyr stepped up onto the outer rampart and turned around, so her back was to the drop, feeling nothing but open air behind her and nothing but the rope and harness around her. The crowd below gasped in unison. The wind whipped at her and almost drew her from her perch before she was prepared. “Be careful up here,” she warned her company, some of whom were already looking a bit green around the edges. Now that she was standing there it seemed to be hitting them that they would have to do the same. “Alright,” she gripped her ropes expertly. “Now, as you fall back, ensure your ropes are braced. Then-” and she was floating over the open air.

She braced her feet against the wall and reveled in the feeling of nothing below her. The sensation of flying, at once terrifying and thrilling. She felt the wind assault her again, trying to dislodge her from her position. She scooted her feet wider apart and braced there, waiting.

Cole came next, copying her movements exactly he was soon braced beside her, looking all around with an interested expression, the wind ripping at his hat and make the brim move like a living thing. The rest of her team trickled down to join them. Rogers was last, and it was obvious he was terrified out of his skin. “I thought leaving the Deep Roads and seeing all that sky would have prepared me for this,” he muttered in a tight voice. “I was wrong.” He looked ready to be sick.

“Alright,” Astlyr barked over the rushing wind, eager to distract the more frightened members of her group. “We're going to move down. We practiced the motion on the ground while we were harnessing up. Remember?”

“Yes,” answered Cole. And he demonstrated by beginning his descent skillfully.

“Easy enough for him,” Muttered Jones. “If he falls does he even die?”

“Yes,” Cole called up to her, no hint of fear in his voice.

“Don't let the boy show you up,” Astlyr urged, sensing a motivational tool. “Come on! The sooner we find that cave, the sooner we can be in it and have our feet on the ground again.”

Cole looked up at the dwarf, who was still rendered motionless, even as the others began to make their way slowly downward. The boy spoke over the sound of the icy wind, which battered his hat back and forth so strongly that Astlyr wondered how it was staying on. “Remember when you walked from your halls of stone and felt the breeze for the first time? You thought you drown in all that sky. That the wind would pick you up and carry you away like a feather. But then it didn't, so you took another step, and another. You knew you had nothing to fear from the sky. You were brave then. You can be brave again now.”

Astlyr looked up to see if Cole's words has worked, and to her surprise and pleasure they seemed to have. Rogers, back still rigid, gloved hands still tight on the rope, began to inch his way downward. She turned to where Cole had been, but he was already below her again, still without any evident fear for himself. Fen'Harel and Myfanwy came even with Astlyr. “How are you doing?” she asked.

Fen looked more nervous than Myfanwy who answered, “Daveth and I used to climb very tall tress when we were children. Sometimes we slept in them, when we knew it wasn't safe on the ground. This is very different, but somehow, it still feels safe. As though no one could reach us to harm us here.”

“Your god-ship?” Astlyr quietly questioned the other elf who hung beside her.

Fen'Harel chuckled dryly, looking a bit paler than usual, though not as panicked as Rogers. “I have a few of Daveth's climbing memories. They are...not helping me in the same way as they are for Myfanwy.”

Astlyr laughed, her lungs again filling with the fresh, frigid air of the mountains. The wind was biting as it whipped at her again, and it almost dislodged the lighter, elvish climbers. The leather armor they all wore (no good trying to climb a wall wearing anything heavier) did act as windbreakers of a sort. Still, every joint in the armor was vulnerable to the grappling fingers of wind which sought to toss these upstart climbers from its territory.

As Cole moved ahead, Astlyr hung back with the stragglers, as though she and the boy had an unspoken arrangement. She offered her encouragement, and her lack of fear was seen as bravery, rather than unnerving and odd, as Cole's was. She even had a few of them laughing. Jones was frightened at first, but seemed to come into her own, finding her rhythm for moving down the wall faster than the others. Soon she kept pace with Astlyr, trying to encourage the others.

The climb took perhaps twenty minutes. Now they hung below the wall, faced with ragged mountainside. It took Rogers a good while to join them as they scanned the aged stone for cracks or faults. To Astlyr's relief they did not see any obvious sign of the side of the mountain braking off. Skyhold seemed to be perched on an extremely sturdy hunk of stone. Astlyr squinted further down into the cold mist that surrounded them. The moisture got into every crevice of her armor and her clothes were quite damp. “I think I see something down there,” she reported.

She lowered herself further and heard several annoyed grumbles from her party, but they followed. “Are those...” she squinted, “stairs?” Below her she could make out what appeared to be a landing and steps made of white stone. They protruded from the rock wall, then ended abruptly where age and weather had clearly broken them off. “Did those used to go all the way to the ground?”

Fen'Harel reached her side and took in the view, scrutinizing. “I imagine they did, once. I think we will find the cave we are seeking at the top of them.”

“I would imagine so,” Astlyr agreed, lowering herself skillfully.

As she and Fen'Harel had predicted, at the head of the stairs a doorway stood like an open mouth. There may have been doors at one time, but Astlyr suspected they had been wooden and the elements had done away with them as they had the stairs. She carefully set her feet on the landing before the doorway, Cole doing the same beside her. The boy trusted his weight to it first, reasoning that if he did begin to fall he could teleport into the opening. The landing held. It appeared to have been built out from the mountain stone, rather than added to it. Astlyr stood, her weight not affecting their perch in the least. One by one the climbers came to rest, like strange spiders sliding down threads.

“Is this elven?” Astlyr questioned as she took in the doorway. There was no question that this opening was not a natural one. It had a fine arch, obviously carved from the white stone. She had another thought, “would people actually climb all those steps to reach this door?”

Fen'Harel leaned briefly to look over the edge, seeking the ground with his eyes. When Astlyr did the same she wasn't certain she saw it. Was the white below them snow, or more mist? “I believe they would. Likely to show devotion to the gods they were coming to honor.” Fen'Harel said.

“Seems very inefficient to me,” Jones remarked. “I can just stroll into a chantry if I want to pray.”

“And yet you humans built a temple to your Andraste here in these mountains, rendering it very difficult to reach,” Fen'Harel retorted.

Jones gave him a quick smile, “I suppose you have a bit of a point there. Still...all those stairs. Phew. No thank you.”

Rogers and the other two builders were already moving into the opening in the mountain face. Astlyr hurried to catch up, with her remaining companions in tow. Astlyr pulled her torch from its place, strapped to the top of her pack. She offered the end to Fen'Harel, “alright. Let's see if you have any fire magic.”

The elf stepped back, surprised. Then he seemed to consider, raising a slender hand to the torch. Myfanwy watched as well, brows raised. After a long moment Fen'Harel took his hand away looking shame faced, “I believe we have our answer.”

“Daveth never was any good with fire,” Myfanwy confirmed, smiling faintly. Astlyr suspected she had told her god that, but he had still hoped.

“Alright. I'll have to light these the old fashioned way,” Astlyr said. She beckoned Jones, then turned the woman around and fished in her pack for a flint and tinder. “It's easier than taking my pack off to go through it,” she explained when odd looks and chuckles followed her action.

With lit torches in hand the group pressed on further into the tunnel, for a tunnel it was. Not a cave at all. Even Rogers admired the craftsmanship as his sage eyes scanned the smooth walls and skillfully arched ceiling. “This place was meant to withstand a goodly amount of weight on up of it, that much is certain.” He noted with an appreciative rub of his beard.

The group pressed on, moving quietly, torchlight illuminating everything in a washed out orange glow. Fen'Harel and Myfanwy came to walk beside Astlyr. She watched the god out of the corner of her eye for a moment, then leaned towards Myfanwy, “so, your brother was not a fire mage. What sort of magic did he specialize in?”

To Astlyr's surprise Myfanwy smiled a little cheekily. “Before we were banished form our clan, Daveth had some training,” she explained in a hushed voice so the others would not overhear. “After we left the clan he trained on his own, trying to hone his skills as best he could. To be worthy of Fen'Harel. He is somewhat skilled with earth magic. However, his true talent lies in spirit healing. Our clan was even a bit sad to have to banish us for our heathen beliefs. Daveth was the best healer they had.” She smirked.

Astlyr contained a short of laughter. She could see Fen'Harel let his shoulders droop slightly as he walked at her other side. She had to admit, knowing that the 'Dread Wolf' was trapped inside the body of a healing mage made her feel a good deal safer with him. She was also pleased to find he had this skill because the peaceful ability was rare these days, and in high demand. During the mage uprising, the healers were more likely to be killed because their abilities allowed them to help others, but often left them unable to protect themselves as well as the mages with offensive talents. Astlyr wasn't certain that there were any truly skilled spirit healers in Skyhold at all. Certainly some who had healing abilities, like Vivienne, but none with the specialty.

“Beggars can't be choosers,” Fen'Harel said, smiling wryly.

“Here we are!” Rogers the dwarf called from up ahead. He and the rest of the group had stropped and were holding their torches up to reveal where the curved ceiling of the tunnel was collapsing. Large hunks of stone lay on the floor and the air was dustier.

“Can we shore it up?” Astlyr questioned raising her own torch. She was almost as tall as the tunnel itself, so her light easily shone over the damage.

Rogers and his builders squinted up and around. A long crack had formed in the wall from the ceiling to the floor. The dwarf rubbed his beard, thoughtfully. “I believe so. Yes. It will be a challenge if we have to lower tools and machines down from the walltop.”

“So we should press on? See if this tunnel comes out anywhere inside the fortress?” Astlyr clarified.

“Yes,” Rogers affirmed, nodding. He stooped, licked his finger and swept it though the dust which had settled on the floor. He brought his coated finger to his face a sniffed expertly. Everyone leaned in, curious. “This dust has been settled for at least a week. I don't think this tunnel is going to collapse today. Our mission to repair it is urgent, but it shouldn't topple onto our heads while we work.”

“This crack is worrying, boss,” said the elven builder, running his hand down it, brows coming together.

“What does that mean?” Astlyr questioned, eying the crack.

“Not certain just yet,” the dwarf answered, moving to investigate.

Astlyr stood back, holding out her torch to add more light as the experts accessed. The qunari may have known her way around shingling a roof, but cracks in a tunnel wall were another story all together. Myfanwy and Fen'Harel stood with her, silent and thoughtful. Jones seemed to be making an attempt to get to know Cole a bit. She looked uncomfortable as they conversed in low tones, but Astlyr admired the woman's determination not to be deterred by the spirit boy's odd manner. Suddenly Cole's head snapped up, pale eyes bright in the torchlight. He spoke a single word. “Spiders.”

Astlyr's shoulders stiffened. She hadn't encountered a cave yet that wasn't full of the gigantic creepy-crawlies. “Alright everyone,” Astlyr spoke in her loud, commanding voice, which echoed impressively off the walls, “remember how we planned it.”

As she had instructed them before they had thrown themselves from the wall, the builders hurried to stand behind Astlyr and her fighters. The qunari, Cole and Jones, who was equipped with a plain guardsman's sword and shield, stepped forward, ready to meet the eight legged beasties. Fen'Harel and Myfanwy positioned themselves slightly behind the small front line. Astlyr could feel the prickle of magic as Fen'Harel called it to him. This was the moment, she thought, when she found out if she could trust the two elves. Myfanwy had a clear shot at her back, and for all she knew Fen could bring the walls crashing down around them, or she could find a lance of ice suddenly protruding from her chest. She glanced at Cole, who was crouched, twin blades at the ready and gleaming, She knew he could sense her mistrust, but he gave her no indication that he sensed malice from Myfanwy or her god. Astlyr swallowed and focused her attention back onto the tunnel as a pack of large spiders scuttled their way down it.

The fat bodied ones were the most disgusting to kill, Astlyr thought darkly as she yanked her sword free of a bulbous abdomen. It was covered in sticky, disgusting spider innards. One of the smaller, quicker spiders darted towards her leg, and before she could turn to bring her shield down on the creature an arrow had transfixed it neatly. She knew the smaller ones were more venomous, so she tried to focus on them, but damn were they ever speedy.

One of the smaller spiders zipped in and jabbed ugly fangs into a gap in Jone's armor. The guardswoman snarled in frustration and brought her own shield edge down, slicing off several legs as the spider tried to get clear. It squealed like a dying rabbit and flailed backwards where Cole ended its misery with an expert dagger thrust before he vanished again, only to appear seconds later further down the tunnel to stab a particularly large brute who had been trundling forward with murderous intent.

Jones, taking advantage of a lull in the action, reached for her belt pouch where the spider anti-venom was held. Astlyr watched the guard out of the corner of her eye, intending to give the woman time to drink down some of the medicine. Instead, even as Jones' hands undid the little clasp on the pouch, a white light coiled around her, slithering down to her leg Astlyr saw the light pull a small trickle of blood, then a blackish gush of venom from the bite wound there. Jones squeaked in surprise as she looked down at her limb.

Astlyr followed the magic with her eyes, knowing it was emanating from Fen'Harel. He had been sparing with his spells in this fight, but he easily manipulated the healing magics to draw the spider poison from the punctures. Then the magic let the venom fall to the floor with a gentle splat. Astlyr, impressed, gave the elf a small nod. He met her eyes and nodded back before another wave of spiders hit.

Cole darted in and out, one moment visible, the next lost from sight. Astlyr stopped trying to keep an eye on him. She should have known better than attempting it in the first place. The spirit boy could move with inhuman skill and grace in battle. His speed could not be matched, but some of the spiders seemed a bit more intelligent than others Astlyr had fought. They were yellowish in color, with stripes of red on their sleeker abdomens, and they hung back from the main waves of attacking spiders. These nasties seemed to have figured out Cole's game and were focusing on him. Were they able to see him even when he was invisible? Astlyr wondered as she drove her blade into the writhing creature that had made a foolish swipe for her leg.

Cole appeared again, slicing viciously into a fat spider with a speed like lighting. His blades drawing back, both the weapons and his hands covered in dark spider blood. Before Astlyr could think to shout a warning, the yellow spiders had spotted the boy and shot webbing towards him, and their aim was excellent. “Cole!” Astlyr finally managed, but it was too late. He was trapped with web holding his legs and already the spiders were making more to grapple with his arms.

Astlyr made a frustrated growling sound that was more animal than anything as she kicked the spider before her with such force its face indented as it toppled over, stone dead. She slashed at the next beast, which was smacking its mouth-parts angrily as it climbed over its fallen brethren. Astlyr glanced back to her tiny battle line. Did she dare leave them to charge in after Cole? Myfanwy had spotted the situation, and while she was not as uncannily actuate as Sera might have been, most of her shots rang true. The yellow spiders that were not moving in to try to bite Cole kept flopping back with arrows sticking out of them.

As best Astlyr could tell in the dimness the boy was yet unhurt, though he was growing steadily more and more ensconced. The spiders had one of his arms now, and he slashed with the other, keeping them back. “Cole, teleport!” Astlyr shouted.

He didn't look up at her as he answered, slicing with his blade, “I cannot if I am trapped or held by something,” he yelled back. There was no fear in his voice, only frustration that mirrored Astlyr's.

Fen'Harel stepped up behind Astlyr's shoulder, eyes narrowed as he examined the scene. “Much of Daveth's magic would damage the tunnel,” he explained, almost so quietly that Astlyr didn't hear. “But I think I shall try...” there was a rush of magic past Astlyr and she felt the tingle of it, as though sparks had escaped a fire and touched her skin for a moment.

The shaped stones which made up the floor around Cole began to move. They slid out of place, then gathered around the boy's feet, almost like little creatures huddling there. “Teleport now!” the elvish mage shouted.

This Cole did. No longer anchored to the floor by the webbing he appeared behind the group in a small plume of dust, having brought web and floor-stones with him. Astlyr pulled a knife from her hip and handed it behind her to the mage, who rushed to cut Cole free of his bindings. Then Astlyr focused her attention back on the remaining spiders. Some had scuttled away up passages, obviously eager to hide away and recover from their wounds. The remaining yellow spiders again demonstrated their intelligence. They shot web up to the ceiling and scampered up it with alarming speed. Myfanwy shot two out of the air, but three more reached the ceiling. Astlyr swung mightily, as the only one able to reach the cavern's curved top. The spiders scurried out of her reach and then seemed to be watching with their many, bright eyes.

The remaining large and poisons spiders slunk back in obvious retreat. The yellows may have been overseeing this, Astlyr realized as she watched. Myfanwy shot another down and the remaining yellows fled as well, running upside down, still clinging to the ceiling.

The battle over Astlyr turned to her people and looked them over. Cole was still stripping web from himself. It was apparently extremely sticky, and he had to go slowly so as not to tear his clothing. She noticed that where he had to pull the stuff free of his skin it left ugly welts. The boy did not seem to realize this, or care. Instead he met her eyes and his expression was a question, “No,” Astlyr affirmed, “we have not met spiders quite like those before.”

“They were cleverer than the others,” Cole agreed, using his own knife to cut himself free of the last strand binding him to a stone from the floor.

“We'll have to keep our eyes open for more of those then,” said Myfanwy, practically. She moved about the tunnel, yanking her arrows from the spider corpses.

“Watch the ceilings,” Cole agreed with a nod.

Before Astlyr even had to ask him, Fen'Harel was using his healing magic on Cole's hands, where the webs had hurt them. Then the elf moved about the group, seeing to any small injures anyone had. Astlyr watched appreciatively. It was just what Solas would have done. She shook her head. There was no Solas, there had never been for her. It had always been the Dread Wolf. He certainly didn't seem very dreadful as he used white magic to mend a small cut on Jones' hand. A smile played with the corner of her mouth as he worked.

“Well, that was an adventure,” said Rogers, his tone good-natured. He seemed the least bothered by the spider attack, though he was ill equipped to defend himself. Perhaps the creatures were common in Orzammar, Astlyr pondered. The mice and rats of the subterranean city. A small shudder of revulsion raced up her body and she resolved to think about something else.

Fen'Harel, finished with his healing, turned to the pile of stones and excess web that Cole had finished freeing himself from. More magic coiled from the elf's outstretched hands. The stones, perfectly formed and symmetrical, and each about the side of a hand, rolled across the floor with a clattering rumble. Astlyr dodged smartly out of their way as they bounced and rattled past her, squared edges not meant for this type of movement. By the time the stones had reached their destination they had dislodged much of the webbing. One by one Fen'Harel magically placed them back where they had originated. With all the care of an artist he checked each to the groove it had vacated to ensure it was back exactly where it had begun.

When he had finished sweat dripped from his brow and it took a moment for his features to relax from a tight expression of concentration. He put up a slim hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Cole appeared at his side and took his arm, looking into the elf's face curiously. “Why did you use magic? You could have used your hands to place them and it would not have drained you.”

Fen'Harel smiled thinly at the spirit boy, letting his hand fall from his face. “I didn't want to get my hands dirty,” he said to the group as a whole, his clever eyes sparkling. Astlyr casually moved closer to hear his true answer. He spoke in a hushed voice once he was certain Jones and the builders were otherwise occupied. “I wanted to see. I wanted to find out exactly how precise Daveth's magic could be. I could sense that his power lay in the technical, the precise, rather than the powerful.” he shot Myfanwy a smile, “In this way he is a perfect fit for me. I suspect that, had I a staff, the task would have been all too easy. Unused to Daveth's magic as I am, and hindered without a focus item, I am still impressed.”

Myfanwy beamed. Astlyr smiled as well, pleased that the elvish woman finally seemed happy. Myfanwy usually had an air of melancholy about her. Astlyr wondered if she was lonely, having so connected herself with Fen that she never got out to be with the other people of the Inquisition and make friends. She had bonded a bit with Astlyr's team while they were all in the infirmary together. The qunari resolved to invite Myfanwy out the next time they all went to the tavern for a 'family' meal.

Once Fen'Harel seemed to have recovered a bit, and the builders had given the tunnel a thorough looking over and were making quiet plans, Astlyr found that she was growing antsy. The dark tunnel led onward and her adventuring spirit was eager to explore. Cole stood at her shoulder, keen, pale colored eyes watching the darkness as she did. Jones came up to stand beside them for a moment, her mouth twitching as he clearly struggled not to laugh, “Look at the pair of you. Like two hounds waiting to be let of a leash.”

Astlyr chuckled, though Cole looked a bit confused. “You did well in the fight, Jones,” Astlyr congratulated her human friend.

“Thank you Ma'am.” Jones' smile made her entire sweet, homely, face light up.

“You're very steady. I knew where you would be at any given time.”

“We don't get taught a lot of fancy moves in the guard training. Not like the lad there,” Jones gestured to Cole, who was listening to their conversation with quiet interest. “They basically hand us a sword and tell us to 'stick 'em with the pointy end.'”

“That is the protocol,” Astlyr nodded, putting on her best sage expression, which Dorian had once told her just made her look half asleep. “All that fancy stuff, just for show.”

“Mine isn't-” Cole began, but she rested her hand on his shoulder to stop him. Sometimes sarcasm evaded the boy. Not always, which was fortunate considering the company he kept, but from time to time it still got past him.

“How much longer do you think we'll be, ma'am?” Jones asked.

“Not certain. Once the crew is finished with their assessment I would like to see where this tunnel leads. I have my suspicions, and if I am right we won't need to climb back up to the wall.

Behind her Astlyr could hear Rogers the dwarf questioning Fen'Harel, “so then, mage. I see that you have a little skill with earth magics. Are you good enough to fix up this tunnel?”

Fen'Harel shook his dark curls and smiled ruefully. “Perhaps, if I had a good rest and a staff to aid me. Today I could not.”

“Right. Then we shall plan on shoring her up the old fashioned way, and if we can get some magical assistance, well, more's the better,” the dwarf said, sounding pleased with his plans. His fellow builders nodded and muttered that it certainly would be easier with a few mages on the job.

“Are we ready to press on?” Astlyr questioned the group.

“Further into the cave?” the human, Christopher, asked, eying the darkness.

“Come on now, lad,” Rogers gave the man a smack on the small of his back which caused him to cough in surprise, “like the lady Inquisitor said. If we find a way up through the tunnel we won't have to go climbing on the ropes again, and I am very much in favor of that.”

“That's because you grew up under ground,” Christopher muttered, though there was no malice in his tone as he picked up his pack and slung it back on his shoulder. “So long as the lady doesn't mind continuing to murder any eight legged, dog sized beasties we might find.”

“It brings me joy,” Astlyr said, checking the buckles of her shield straps. They bit into her forearm some, having been made for human use, but she ignored this. Her blood was up, even after the rest period, and she was getting to do some good old fashioned exploring with the possibility of battle. This was her kind of thing. Forget politics and old gods. Give her a cave and a bunch of spiders any day.

The spiders, however, seemed to have decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Once or twice a many-legged shadow might be spotted, scuttling away at speed, but that seemed to be all for the moment. 

The tunnel had several offshoots which led to smaller chambers or rooms. Fen'Harel said these might have been storage rooms, or a place to rest for pilgrims who would have journeyed far to visit Skyhold. “And climbed all those stairs, “ chuckled Jones. “I'd need a rest too after that.”

As they walked, carefully checking each side passage and keeping their eyes open for spiders, Cole appeared at Astlyr's arm. He walked silently with her for a moment, then spoke in a whisper, obviously not wanting to include the others in their conversation. “Astlyr, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, Cole,” she smiled down at him. She couldn't see much of his face, thanks, as always, to his hat.

The boy hesitated, seemingly uncertain how to begin. “Have...have I been the same lately as I always was?”

“What do you mean? Have I noticed you behaving strangely? Well, strangely for you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Cole?” She noticed that the boy's daggers were sheathed and he was wringing his pale hands, a gesture he usually reserved for when he was noticing someone else's pain and didn't know quite how to help them yet. “Have you noticed anything?” she asked, eying him with concern.

“I...I don't know,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes I feel...I feel different.”

“You are different, Cole. That's why I like you,” she smiled.

“Not different from others. Different from me...what I was before,” his hand played with the protective amulet he wore. “It isn't much. Just a gnawing at the corner of myself. Like maybe I don't fit any more.”

Astlyr was thoroughly confused and had no idea how to answer. She knew he could sense this, of course. Still, she felt that something must be said, “remember, you can't be corrupted, Cole. You have the amulet to prevent that. So however you're changing, or you think you're changing, perhaps it's natural for you?” she said it as a question and trailed off lamely. An idea struck her, “are you becoming more human, like Varric wanted before?”

“I don't know. I don't think so. I still don't sleep, or eat, or feel cold,” he answered.

“Have you talked to Fen'Harel about it?”

“Yes.” Cole replied, still not looking up at her.

“And what did he say?”

“The same as you have. That maybe it's natural. But I'm not natural, Astlyr.” There was a tinge of anguish in his voice, of the kind she knew too well. He may have made himself forget his time with the original Cole, a boy dying alone in the dark, but Astlyr did not forget. When Cole had realized what he was, and what he had been and done for the first Cole, his voice had been raw with pain. It was not that bad as he spoke now, but the edge of it made her flinch.

Before she could press on with the conversation, perhaps finally figuring out what to say that would actually be helpful, the passage opened out into a large, main room. Astlyr caught her breath. It was impressive, with thick support columns and a ribbed ceiling high above. A ceiling she couldn't reach by raising her hand, she noticed with pleasure. The columns which towered towards that ceiling were different from any she had seen before, and from one another. Rather than merely being made of thick stone, these were shaped. Each was unique from its fellows. One was carved with perfect stone vines, complete with leaves. Another shaped to look like cascading water. The dwarf whistled, eyebrows raised as he strolled about, thumbs tucked into the chest-plate of his armor.

“Was this place made by the elves?” Astlyr questioned, finding a pillar shaped like a howling wolf.

Fen'Harel joined her, moving gracefully, as though he were at home there. He rubbed a hand fondly on the wolf pillar's paw and smiled, “Oh yes,” he answered.

“Look at the walls!” Called Jones, who had brought her torch to the right hand wall of the room. Astlyr looked over to see massive paintings, like those in Solas' old study, adorning the stone. These were far larger and more intricate. Deer, or were they hala, raced across golden fields. Elvish hunters crept through quiet forests, and maidens wearing bright colors danced. Each painting blended into the next, depicting a life of splendor and joy. Astlyr began to move along the walls, looking at all the splendid murals. Each time she thought she had picked a favorite, a new scene would catch her eye.

One depicted a group of children walking with a black wolf. Each elven child had a hand on the animal as though they all wanted to claim it as their own. Astlyr shot a look towards Fen'Harel and found him watching her. At her look he smiled again, and dipped his head in a quick nod. This painting seemingly was a of time when The People did not fear their Dread Wolf. Below this picture stood a small basin made of stone. The inside was stained with ash and what appeared to be old blood. Astlyr squinted, running her hand across the inside of the basin and sniffing the dust it left on her fingers.

“The People made offerings to the gods here,” Fen'Harel explained as he walked up to join her with that same easy stride she had seen Solas use countless times. “They sometimes burned the offerings, sometimes left them raw. They gifted me with a good deal of meat,” he smiled thinly. “That is what I get for associating myself with a carnivore,” he chuckled.

“You didn't like the meat?” Astlyr questioned.

“Oh, I did,” he said, looking fondly at the basin as though remembering. “But I will admit I was jealous at times.”

“Jealous?” Astlyr asked, wiping her fingers clean on the leg of her armor.

“Inquisitor, over here!” Jones called, excited.

Astlyr moved to join the woman who stood with Myfanwy, both examining something. The mural above them was of a woman, her head thrown back, hair framing all around her head like a halo of perfect black. Instead of arms she had the wings of a dragon sprouting from her shoulders. At her feet figures genuflected and gathered like children huddling at the skirts of a mother. Astlyr guessed that this was Mythal. She had seen statues of the dragon goddess in the temple. In the basin below the goddess were golden trinkets and glittering baubles. Astlyr shook her head, impressed, as her people looked to her for permission to collect them. “I doubt Mythal is coming back for them,” she said. This was all the cue her followers needed, hurriedly stuffing trinkets into their packs.

Astlyr considered telling them that they would have for forfeit their treasures to the Inquisition coffers, but changed her mind. When she and her usual crew were on a mission, any small treasure they secured was usually theirs to keep. She drew the line at large hauls, but something like this, well, this could feed a family, but not a fortress. She smiled as she saw the glee on their faces, each stepping back with a glittering, if a bit dusty, token to call their own. Fen'Harel, Myfanwy and Cole took nothing. Though Fen did have an oddly smug expression on his face as the rest of the group made their selections.

Then the wolf god slowly strolled over to another god's basin, situated near the main door. This depicted a man walking with two ravens flying over him and a bear at his side. The man and his creatures seemed to be strolling peacefully through a glade. Around him words were scrawled on the wall. Some even directly onto his image. Astlyr raised an eyebrow at Fen'Harel, “Not a popular god then? People have marked up his painting.” She glanced down at the basin built into the floor. It was empty save for a layer of dust.

“This is Dirthamen, the secret keeper. The writing is the offering that was left for him,” Fen'Harel explained, reaching up and touching the wall fondly.

Cole strolled over and tilted his head back to look over the wall, lips parting to speak the memories he found there. “I am in love with Cerdiwen, but she will not notice me. Yesterday I spilled my stew on her leg and she was so furious with me that she struck me. My cheek burned, but I pretended that she had held my face rather than slapped it.” The boy's eyes flicked to another passage, scrawled in what Astlyr could only assume was ancient elvish. “I killed one of our clansmen today. Falon'Din take him serenly, I pray! I did not want to kill him, but he began acting strangely while we were on a hunt together, and he came at me with a knife. Mythal bless me, I cannot wash the blood from my hands! He has two daughters.”

“Does he read the language?” Jones asked, looking impressed.

“No,” Astlyr chuckled. “Cole is just a tough one to keep secrets around.”

“I have been seeing someone without my husband knowing. Another woman. She understands me as no one else does.”

Some of the group tried to hide their smiles as Cole continued to sense the often embarrassing ancient secrets. Then the boy paused, his brows coming together. “What is it, Cole?” Astlyr questioned.

“Someone...someone...I thought I found a memory I knew,” Cole shook his head, a confused expression on his face.

“What do you mean?” Astlyr questioned, tilting her head to better see her young friend's face, washed paler than ever in the wan torchlight.

“I d-I don't know,” Cole spun in place, as though searching for something. Like one attempting to catch a leaf swept away on a breeze. A look of anxiety crossed his face. “It flits, flies, like a touch, but gone. I can't hold it.”

Astly glanced at Fen'Harel and found that he too wore a complex expression. She did not have time to ponder this for long because Cole moved purposefully to a small wall sconce, gesturing to it, “Veil fire,” he said. “To see.”

“Are there runes here?” Astlyr questioned, glancing around. The only sign of magical writing she had seen was the elvish on Dirthamen's wall.

“Here,” Fen'Harel stepped in, twisting his hands in a few practiced motions. Green veil fire erupted in the aged sconce.

Astlyr took out one of her unused torches and passed it to the elvish mage. He lit it from the sconce, then turned back to Cole. “What are we meant to illuminate with it?”

“You know,” Cole said, his tone firm. Now he was eying Fen'Harel with an intense, searching look in his pale eyes.

Fen'Harel held the boy's gaze for a long moment. Just enough for the group to start to feel uncomfortable, and some to stroll away, pretending to suddenly be intrigued by a carved pillar or searching in a pack for some bread. Only Astlyr and Myfanwy kept their eyes fixed on the two. Just as Astlyr was about to open her mouth and say something (though she had not yet decided what) Fen'Harel smiled wolfishly, then turned to the mural, holding up the veilfire torch.

“Bless me,” gasped Jones, who had looked up from digging in her pack. She rocked back on her heels, head tilted back as she took in the wall.

The painting of the man and his animal companions was changed. The veil fire revealed new portions, obscuring others. No longer the image of a figure striding through a glade, but a massive map. Dirthamen's eye had become a lake. The crows mountains. Every mark or crease on the god's clothing was now revealed to be a river, or range of hills. Marked around the map with glowing runes were place names, Astlyr guessed. She couldn't be certain of any of them, not understanding the language, but she saw what she suspected were the Frostback Mountains in the fur of the great bear. On them was marked what appeared to be a small city. “Skyhold?” she asked touching the place.

“Yes,” said Fen'Harel. His eyes had gone wide as he looked over the revealed work. “Inquisitor, this is impressive indeed. A map of ancient Fereldan as The People knew it. Here-” he touched a spot lovingly with careful fingertips, “This is a worship place. And this.”

“Are these your temples?” Astlyr whispered to the elf as she pointed to several images on the map which looked like tiny wolves.

Fen'Harel chuckled, before quietly replying. “No. I had no temples. But they are places my followers would go to pray and leave tribute.”

“Why are they glowing brighter than the others?” Jones asked, stepping closer and squinting.

Fen'Harel seemed at a loss how to answer the woman. Astlyr wondered herself, but said nothing. It seemed likely that they were brighter because of the presence of the god they represented. Something did prickle at the back of her mind, however, and she knew it had to do with the way Cole was still scrutinizing not the wall, but the elf. The god was not telling her everything.

“I've been to this one,” Myfanwy said, looking pleased with their discovery as she pointed out one of the wolf statues glowing on the map.

“Ma'am,” one of the builders spoke up timidly. “I er, I was wondering if we might move on. Not that I don't enjoy statues and glowing walls, but suspect it is going on afternoon above ground, and we still have no idea if he can reach Skyhold from the tunnel.” he flinched away when he was finished as though he expected to be yelled at.

“You're right,” Astlyr nodded. “If we find a way up into Skyhold proper we can come down here as often as we like to explore and really give this map a good looking over,” she raised her voice, letting it echo off the walls and high ceiling. “Alright, crew. Let's get a move on!”

Everyone hurried to gather up anything they had taken out of packs, and to light fresh torches as the old ones were burning down. Astlyr gave the glowing map one more look, wishing she could stay longer and try to figure it out. She sighed, lit a new torch for herself, and turned to continue to search for a path to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I have no idea why I decided to make the "air date" for these chapters Thursday. Aka usually my busiest work day. I might change it to Friday in the future if Thursdays keep being so busy, though it does give me something to look forward to on an otherwise crap day.
> 
> To keep updated on Old Gods quickly and easily, as well as know when I might be posting late, please check out my author FB page! I also post funny things, my other works, and book review videos I make! Check it out: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> As always, your comments feed my soul, so feel free to send them my way! :D


	14. Words on the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Must be thursday! Enjoy!

Part 14  
Words on the Wall

“Here,” The human builder, Christopher, got everyone's attention. He was standing at the far side of the massive temple room. Astlyr and her fellows reconvened to go to him. They had been spread about, looking for a door out of the caves under Skyhold, and also admiring the alters left for the other gods.

Fen'Harel fondly pointed them out as though speaking of friends he had seen only the day before. “Ah, this is Ghilan'nain's altar,” he had strode over to the painting of a gold colored halla standing tall and impressive. It seemed larger, more well muscled than the halla Astlyr was familiar with. Well, she supposed, it was a god. “She was a good friend to me,” Fen'Harel said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“She plays in the river. The sunlight shining golden on the water matches her hair,” Cole had been listening nearby. “I watch her and she slips so flawlessly from woman to hala and back again. As if she and the animal are one form. One being.”

Fen'Harel had smiled thinly and touched his fingertips to the painting.

Now Astlyr and her expedition team had gathered once more to see what Christopher had found. At first Astlyr could not be certain he had discovered anything at all. Then, after a good deal of squinting, she made out the thin outline of what had once been an opening. “You see it?” the man asked, excited. “I looks like this used to be a door, but they covered it over. It might lead up right up into Skyhold!”

“Or down into a spider filled hole,” Jones pointed out, though she too was curious, Astlyr could tell.

“Can we open it?” Astlyr questioned, her eyes following the thin line she now knew to be the place where newer stones met ancient ones.

“We can try with the tools we have,” said Rogers, stroking his beard. He pulled off his pack and took out a hammer, pick ax and short shovel.

“Wait,” Fen'Harel stayed him. “You'll risk damaging the temple.”

He had a point. The wall which the door had been built into was flanked on either side by the images of elven deities, rendered flawlessly in fresco. “Can you open it?” Astlyr addressed the mage.

“I can certainly try,” he said, his face growing determined. “Without a focus item such as a staff it may be difficult to carefully move so much rock.”

Astlyr thought for a moment, then tugged the glove from her left hand. “Use me.”

“What?” Fen'Harel looked at her as if she had suggested he pry the rocks away with his teeth.

“Try using me as a focus. I think Dorian did it once, when we were dying. Maybe you can get it to work again.” she said, extending her hand towards him.

“This is...unusual,” Fen'Harel seemed at a loss for words, a state he did not seem to know how to cope with.

“It can't hurt to try,” Astlyr said, liking her spur of the moment idea more and more as she thought about it. If a god couldn't get her anchor to work, who could?

“It could hurt,” Cole pointed out. He was standing beside her looking uncertain.

“Or, which is more likely, it will do nothing,” Fen'Harel folded his arms, eyes considering her from behind dark lashes.

“Just give it a try,” she coaxed, holding out her hand to him again.

Fen'Harel sighed, then grasped her hand. His slim fingers barely fit around it. He raised his free arm and magic slithered from his palm and fingertips. He moved his body gracefully to send the magic towards the wall. At first it only probed around the stones, like water seeking a way through a dam. Then he attempted to pry a few loose near the top of the doorway. He waved his free arm aggressively and Astlyr could already see he was struggling. She felt like an anchor herself, holding him back. He made a frustrated sound and let go her hand. “I can't move properly to cast,” he sighed, giving her an apologetic look.

“I suppose that is the advantage of a staff,” Astlyr smiled wryly as she looked down at her marked palm. “Of course, I have no idea if it would have worked. I'm just trying to get a handle on everything this anchor can do.”

It took Fen'Harel perhaps twenty minutes to carefully remove the stones from the wall. When he finished his curls were drenched with sweat and he was panting heavily, but each stone had been placed meticulously to the side in a neat pile. He smiled victoriously at the waiting group. “Not bad,” Astlyr said, folding her arms and giving him an affirming nod to show she was impressed.

“Thank you,” Fen'Harel huffed, resting his hands on he knees and letting his head droop, like a runner who had just finished a race.

Cole appeared beside the elf, but did not seem overly concerned with his condition. “He should be given a mana potion,” the boy concluded.

“Well, if these stairs lead up to Skyhold he shall have one,” Jones was standing in the newly revealed doorway, holding out her torch to illuminate a stone staircase leading upwards.

Astlyr moved to take the lead, as the passage was narrow, allowing only one person at a time, especially if that person was qunari sized. Soon Astlyr detected a scent. Something more than the musty earthy smell all around them. The air here was close, filled with the motes of ages past. Now she thought she caught a whiff of fresh air. Just a fleeting scent of it, but it was enough. “I think we're coming near the exit,” she called back to her followers.

“Good,” Jones said. “I am no dwarf, and all this time below ground is beginning to get to me.”

Astlyr had to agree. While she certainly spent a goodly amount of her time in ancient dungeons and temples, deep underground, she would much rather be under the open sky. So long as that sky did not have an ugly green tear in it. She raised her arm for her followers to stop and she smashed her knuckles against the ceiling. Grimacing she rubbed her hand and called back in a hushed voice, “I think I hear talking. I suspect we may be coming up somewhere near the stable.”

“I can smell manure,” Myfanwy, who was directly behind Astlyr, commented. “I think you may be correct.”

“Is there a trap door of some kind to let us out?” asked Jones, trying to lean around the odd procession to see.

Astlyr reached forward and her hand contacted with something solid which wasn't stone. She held her torch closer, trying to see. “Is this wood? How could it have lasted so long?”

“It appears to be Ironwood,” Myfanwy explained, managing to get an arm past Astlyr to touch the door. Their only exit was set at an angle above them, almost horizontal. “I think we'll be coming up from under ground. The door was likely covered over with sod when the humans built their military fortress on top of the elven temple.” she speculated, shooting an uncertain glance back toward Fen'Harel who was walking at the rear of the party with Cole.

“Likely,” the god agreed, still sounding winded.

Astlyr handed her torch to Myfanwy and climbed a few more steps. She put her shoulder and back to the door, feeling her horns scrape against it. Dirt and cobweb fell in her face. Tensing her muscles she pressed upwards. There was very little give. Likely the frozen ground and snow above her would require a good deal of strength to shift. “Maker's balls, I hope we didn't build a stone floor over the top of this.”

Fen'Harel began to slide up past the other explorers, his slender frame making the going easy, until he was standing beside Myfanwy in the cramped stairway. “Let me,” he said, and with a few tight motions he sent magic surging towards the door. There was a cracking, breaking sound which Astlyr wasn't certain she liked, and then the rumble of earth being shifted. Above them someone shrieked in surprise. Astlyr, taking her cue, threw her body against the door again, baring her teeth and snarling, which always made her feel more powerful.

The door gave way under the combined magic and brute force. It burst outward, more broken than opened, and Astlyr found herself completely blinded by the winter sun. Dirt, snow, and a few pieces of horse droppings, fell in on her and left her spluttering. She felt something pass her shoulder and suddenly Cole was above her, outside and blocking the sun from her face. He extended a hand to her, which she took, though she did not trust much weight to it, as she was more likely to pull her friend back down into the hole than he was to haul her out.

Myfanwy had been correct about the smell of horse droppings. The door opened just slightly to the right of the slop pile. A stable hand stood gaping at them, the wheelbarrow of manure she had been pushing toppled before her in the snow.

Astlyr turned to help those behind her out of the stairway. She knew she looked a mess. Covered in dust, dirt and now animal scat. There were cobwebs stuck to her horns. Still she gave the stable hand her best smile. “I have made a new discovery about Skyhold.” she announced as though the Inquisitor appearing inexplicably out of the ground was perfectly normal. “Please tell the stable master to have the slop pile relocated.”

“Er...yes...ma'am,” the stable hand sputtered, then turned and darted off, leaving her wheelbarrow where it lay.

Cole righted the wheelbarrow and used the fallen manure fork beside it to shovel all the slop back in as Astlyr pulled the rest of her people from the hole they had created. As she took Fen'Harel's slender hand she gave him an appreciative nod. “Good job in there,” she said, “and thank you for not murdering me.”

Fen'Harel laughed weakly as he allowed himself to be helped, “You are most welcome, Inquisitor. Though I cannot imagine the energy I would have to expend to kill one such as you. I have seen you in action, remember, fighting dragons and demons.”

“True,” Astlyr mused.

Once everyone was free of the earth and dusting themselves off in the cold winter sunlight, Astlyr took stock of the situation. “Alright then. This expedition went as well as we had hoped. Perhaps better, having discovered a new elven ruin beneath us. Now we must concentrate on keeping our walls in one piece. This tunnel should make it all the easier. Rogers, I put you in charge of this project. Requisition what tools and materials you'll need and I'll make certain you get them. Not to mention whatever manpower you require.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” the dwarf looked immensely pleased. Astlyr noticed with amusement that he did not bother to wipe the grime from his own clothes, but rather seemed to treasure it. She suspected several normal sized spiders were already nesting in his beard and she shuddered, but smiled none the less.

“Will you begin right away?” Astlyr questioned, bending down at Jones' insistence so the woman could finger comb a few smaller spiders from the qunari's hair, which was falling loose from its bun.

“I think I will ma'am. I'm eager to get to it.” the dwarf beamed.

“Well, I need a good change of clothes first,” mumbled Timmon, the elvish builder. “I think there are seven or eight crawling creatures somewhere on my person and I should like to remove them, if it is all the same.”

“Of course,” Astlyr agreed.

She turned to Myfanwy, Guardswoman Jones, and Fen'Harel. “Jones, please take Fen to the mage tower. Wait outside with him while one of the mages brings him a lyrium potion or two.”

The Dread Wolf gave Astlyr a thin smile. He was leaning against Myfanwy and looking in desperate need of a nap. “You're still distrustful of me, Inquisitor.”

“I'm afraid that will last for a long while,” she said, giving his shoulder one of her gentler pats, which still almost toppled him over. “But please, stop calling me Inquisitor. Solas--you-- used to call me Astlyr.”

Fen'Harel's face brightened slightly, “I didn't know if using your name the way your old friend had done, even if he and I are the same man, would upset you. I'm glad to call you Astlyr again.”

Without thinking the qunari gave him a fond smile, which he returned and she felt a fleeting warmth. As though she was finally seeing that long lost friend again. She shook off the thought, letting the warmth go with a sigh. She stretched her back with her palms against it. “Alright. Everyone go about your business for the moment. Get washed up. Then, if you like, please join myself and what members of my circle I can hunt up, for dinner at the tavern.”

Jones' face lit up like a new dawn, “May I, Ma'am.”

“Of course, Jones, that's why I invited you. Though if you're not careful, Varric is going to give you a nickname.”

Jones looked as though nothing would delight her more as she moved off with Fen'Harel and Myfanwy. “You two are invited as well,” Astlyr called to the two elves. Then she turned to her remaining companion. Cole stood, watching her with a quiet calmness which was unusual for him, though not unheard of. “Come with me?” she asked the boy.

“Yes,” he replied simply, walking along beside her, hands clasped before him, into Skyhold. He remained silent, a rarity indeed, as they made their way past the latest inhabitants of the fortress, though his head did turn or tilt from time to time as she suspected he noticed someone's pain. Whatever pain he felt must not have been serious because he kept pace with her without much distraction.

In her quarters she shut the door and gestured that he should make himself at home. He sat down on her bed, taking off his hat and placing it on a bedpost. Pulling up his feet he watched her. Still waiting for her to say what he must already know was on her mind. Astlyr walked to her dressing table and poured water into the basin there. She began to wash her hands and face, wiping her horns with a few quick motions. The cold droplets ran down the back of her neck. Face washed she picked up a hair brush and began to cope with the mess that was her hair, finally addressing her guest. “Are you feeling alright now, Cole?” she asked. “You were worried before, in the cave. Something about changing?”

Cole nodded, grasping his toes and resting his chin on boney knees. “Yes. There is something...different. I still hear voices, calling to me for help. Some serious, some lesser, but...” he stopped, gnawing on his lip and looking confused.

“But what, Cole?” she asked, setting down her brush. Her hair now fell like a silver waterfall down her back all the way to her butt. She moved to sit beside the boy, actually raising his portion of the mattress with her weight. This caused him to tilt towards her and end with his shoulder against her bicep, his head resting on her shoulder. He didn't correct this position, but continued to contemplate.

“I feel them less sometimes.”

“You think you might be losing the ability to sense others' pain?” she asked. She didn't need the boy's special abilities to know how much this idea frightened him. His greatest, and possibly his only joy was helping others. What if he could not longer use his greatest tool to aid them?

“No. And yes. I'm confused, Astlyr,” he said, his soft voice with its gentle lisp almost too quiet to hear. “No one here knows about spirits, and even if they did, I am unique. I asked Fen'Harel, but even he doesn't know. I still feel the pain of others, but now I feel some of it...more.”

“What do you mean?” Astlyr questioned, wondering if she should put a motherly arm around the boy, or if that would spook him. This interpersonal stuff was confusing.

“Like yours. Or Dorian's, or Varric's,” he said, tilting his head up to look at her with his baleful eyes. “Sometimes, when new people come to Skyhold, I don't even feel their pain right away. Especially if I am far from them, but yesterday I noticed when you stubbed your toe all the way on the other side of the fortress.”

“And you wouldn't normally?” she met his gaze steadily. His sad, unwavering eyes as blue-grey as a winter sky before a storm.

“I might, but it would be lesser pain. I should only truly sense it if I was very near you, or if you had broken your toe.”

“But you noticed it as if it were a bigger pain?”

“And right now Casandra's ribs are aching. Not badly. Enough to be bothersome. She wants to read, but can't get comfortable.” the boy reported.

“So you notice your friends' pain more?” Astlyr clarified. “And strangers' less?”

“Sometimes,” he spoke as though making a horrible confession and looked down at his hands. “Not always,” he hurriedly added. “But I am worried, Astlyr. What if I can't sense others any more? What is happening?”

“I don't know,” she admitted sadly.

“You wish so badly you had more you could tell me, to make it better,” Cole filled in for her, still studying his fingers. The nails were cracked and he had a cut on the back of one hand. “I'm sorry to burden you with it, Astlyr.”

Without thinking she grasped the boy's shoulders and turned him to face her, “Cole, you are to always burden me if you need to,” she instructed in her firmest tone. “If you want to come to me, come to me. No matter what, alright?”

“Except when you're dressing,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” she chuckled. “Not then. Then wait a few moments.”

“I like making people laugh,” Cole admitted, a thin smile appearing on his wan face. “I'm not very good at it. Varric makes everyone laugh. Laughing is a kind of helping sometimes.”

“It certainly is,” Astlyr smiled at the boy. There was the familial tug of fondness she felt for him. She let go his shoulders and moved back to get her hair brush. Then she scooped her hair into a hasty bun and pinned it. “Was there anything else you needed to tell me, Cole?” she asked, offhandedly as she pondered his situation, wondering who she might find who could help them.

Cole thought for a moment, then answered, “he lies to you sometimes.”

“Who does?” she turned from her mirror, hair pin clamped between her teeth.

“Fen'Harel. Sometimes he lies to you,” Cole grimaced, “it is so hard to tell. His pain is like a dense fog over his mind. Crushing loneliness so ancient I cannot see through. Only sometimes. When he lies to you I don't sense any malice. I don't think he wants to hurt you, but he does lie, and you should know.”

Astlyr finished her hair, turning to face herself in her mirror, but watching Cole instead. He had retrieved his hat and tugged it back on. “Thank you, Cole,” she said simply.

“You're welcome,” the boy answered.

She pondered his words as she swept stray hairs into her bun, carefully avoiding her horns. As a teen she had scratched herself a few good times with those horns, as they had reached their adult length. “Would you like to join us for dinner, Cole?” Astlyr questioned.

“I don't eat,” he reminded her.

“I know. You'd come just to be there. To be around your friends.” She selected a new tunic from a wardrobe. “I should listen for Morrigan,” the boy said. He did not sound sad about this. It was merely a statement of fact, as was his way.

“Alright,” she smiled at him and he returned it, though his smiles could often be mistaken for a wince. “I'll see you later then. And Cole, remember what I said about you coming to me no matter what?”

“I will,” the boy nodded, wide hat brim flopping, “thank you.”

Then he was gone, leaving only a rush of icy breeze and puff of dust. She stood for a moment, thinking as she pulled on her clean tunic, discarding the old one in a hamper. She knew how distressed the boy could become if he believed he was a danger to others. The fact that he was speaking calmly meant that he still thought himself safe. She hoped it would remain so. She had once promised Cole that she would kill him if he became a demon. She had thought, once they found the amulet, that she would never have to face that day. Would he come to her and demand to be slain? She shuddered. Would she be able to keep her promise, if he was indeed corrupted? She pushed these thoughts from her mind, striding out of her room to see which of her friends she could locate and interest in a good evening meal.

She found Josie first, though this may have been because the woman was looking for her. The diplomat rushed up to Astlyr, pen aflutter, as she tried to get the Qunari's attention. “Is it true?” she asked, eye bright.

“Is what true?”

“That you jumped off the wall, then appeared out of the ground behind the stables? The rumors in Skyhold are already abuzz. Some claiming you walked out of a Fade rift in the earth. Or that you jumped off the wall into one. Others claim you are a mage and have been hiding your abilities all this time.”

Astlyr laughed too loud and several alarmed faces turned in her direction. “Maker, that shit spreads fast. Well, the people will find out soon enough that yes, I did jump from a wall, but it wasn't with magic. Just rope. We found an ancient elven temple under Skyhold and we even found a door to get back here without having to climb back up the wall.”

“Excellent,” Josephine chirped, smiling as she hastily scribbled with her pen.

“Would you care to join me for a meal, Josie?” Astlyr questioned.

“Of course,” the woman bobbed her head in a half-bow half-nod. “There are many important matters we can discuss.”

“Of course,” Astlyr said, trying to keep up a cheery tone. She spotted Varric, writing quietly in his usual spot. For whatever reason he liked to work out in Skyhold's main hall, where there was always noise and bustle. He had told her once it helped keep his creative juices flowing. She beckoned to him to join her dinner quest, and he did so without hesitation. Astlyr almost turned left, at Varric's spot, to stick her head in the door of Solas office and invite him to join them as well. She stopped herself before her friends noticed.

She suspected Cassandra would be out in the training yard, and with any luck, Cullen would be with her. Iron Bull was finally out of the infirmary, and had taken up his old residence, and likely his old chair, in the tavern again. That left Dorian (who knew where he was?) Viv and Blackwall. She suspected that Blackwall was out of Skyhold again, aiding in snow removal in some of the smaller villages with clustered at the feet of the Frostbacks like chicks in the down feathers of a mother hen.

As they walked, Josie continued to shuffle through her papers, giving her report. “We have had more word of trouble in Tevinter.”

“Good,” muttered Varric.

“The slave markets continue to be raided, at some loss of life. Two noble households have been sacked. All their slaves freed, and in one case, all the masters slaughtered.” the woman continued.

“Slaughtered?” Astlyr hesitated. “They're killing slave owners now?”

“We can not be certain that this is a pattern as of yet,” Josephine held up a staying hand. “Our spies have been instructed to report anything pertaining to elves. These slave market raids and the attacks on the two noble houses may be two separate incidences.”

“Should we tell Dorian?” Aslyr questioned, having reached the bottom of the long stairs out of Skyhold proper she turned to head towards the practice yard. “So he can warn his family, just in case?” She knew Dorian's parents were slave owners themselves.

“That might be wise,” Josephine shrugged, marking something on her paper. “Closer to home we have also heard reports of alienages in Orlais being emptied. These are more like rumors, and we have no definitive evidence as of yet, merely anecdotes. The alienages which have supposedly gone empty are all in small, outlying cities.”

“I see,” Astlyr said, rubbing the back of her heck. This was a lie, she didn't see at all. Could these reports be connected, or did they merely seem so because she had asked for news about elves? “Any word from the queen about my Teyrn-ship?” she asked, deciding to let the puzzle of the alienages drop for the moment.

Josephine shook her head, “It will take some time for the two knights to return to her majesty with all this snow, and then she shall have much to consider.”

“Of that I am certain,” Chuckled the dwarf. Astlyr wondered briefly how he seemed to know of Queen Anora's offer, but then she shook her head and smiled. Not much went on in Skyhold without the keen eyed and eared dwarf picking up on it. Perhaps he had charmed the pages into talking, or bribed Josephine with her favorite treat, a cinnamon sticky bun.

“Cas!” Astlyr called as she spotted her friend. The woman was sitting on a log in the practice yard. She was flexing and stretching her arms, though there was a book in the snowy grass beside her. Astlyr chuckled. Cas was seldom without reading material, as tough a warrior as she was. It would be as odd to see her without a book as without a blade. “Care to join us for a meal?”

The woman stood, if a bit stiffly. “I would,” she replied, bending slowly to pick up her book. “I've been trying to get back into form,” she sighed, walking up beside Astlyr and nodding towards the small practice yard, “but it is always a challenge after a wound. I have to keep taking breaks.”

“At least, thanks to me, you always having something to entertain you during those breaks,” Varric pointed out.

Cas snorted, swatting playfully at the dwarf with the book. “This isn't even one of yours, you hack.”

“You wound me,” Varric clutched both hands to his chest in mock agony, staggering just out of her range.

“I was hoping Cullen would be training with you,” Astlyr tried to get Cas' attention as she made a few more attempts to cuff the nimble Varric.

“He was. He went into the tavern to find us something to drink and has yet to return. I suspect he may have discovered a game of chess.”

“Excellent. When he is finished trouncing whoever he's playing against, he can join us,” Astlyr said, smiling. “Should we invite Viv?”

“Wouldn't want her to feel left out,” Varric broke off from the group, heading for the mage tower to locate the elegant woman.

Soon Astlyr and her company were assembled. She found that Cullen was indeed deeply engaged in a game of chess with the young templar, what was his name, Titus? Dorian stood over the newcomer's shoulder, whispering advice in a way which Astlyr knew was more flirty than merely friendly. She smiled as she waited for them to finish their game and join her group.

The meal was excellent. Astlyr suspected it would have been so even if the food had been the simplest fare. The group was noisy, boisterous, and happy. The last time Astlyr could recall a moment like this was when they had finally defeated Coryphius, only this time she could look across the table and see Fen'Harel amongst her friends. He bantered with the best of them. Keeping up with Varric's quick wit and Cassandra's dry humor.

Soon the bard being playing a lively tune and dancing was called for. Astlyr sat watching as Dorian and Vivienne attempted to teach the others new steps from The Winter Palace. Fen'Harel was the most willing and also learned quickly. He seemed to find his footing no matter what song was played. Varric taught Myfanwy an easy jig and she danced it with him, laughing. Astlyr was startled by Myfanwy's laugh. Like the bright calling of a morning bird. Delightful and lilting. The two were joined in their circle by Jones, who danced with skill, if not grace, her straw colored hair down in a loose braid twisting back and forth as she capered with her new friends. Without her armor Astlyr noticed that the short-statured guardswoman had a curvy, but muscular figure. She moved easily, without inhibition.

When he wasn't dancing Astlyr noticed that Dorian spent a good deal of time chatting with Titus, their heads together, almost conspiratorial. She smiled to herself as she watched them.

“Not much for dancing eh?” Cullen set down a fresh mug as he took the seat beside her, his eyes on Varric, Myfanwy, Fen, and Jones who were doing a country circle dance and obviously having a wonderful time of it.

“You know I have two left feet,” she sighed, feeling jealous of the merrymakers. “And when your feet are as big as mine, being a clumsy dancer could get someone killed.”

“You danced at the winter palace,” Cullen pointed out, tilting his chair back as he stretched and relaxed.

“You couldn't see how many times I tread on her hem,” Astlyr pointed out. “It was a wonder she had a skirt left by the time I was finished tripping all over it.”

Cullen laughed. She liked the way his face could be so open. No sign of the tight worry-lines that were often etched onto his brow as though he were stone. He looked years younger in the light of his mirth. He caught her watching him and gave her a questioning glance. She hurriedly fixed her eyes back on the dancers, just in time to see Cassandra join in. Though she seemed a little uncertain, the warrior woman soon picked up the steps, kicking up her heels, one hand on Varric's shoulder, and his on her waist as he could not easily reach her shoulder. Astlyr laughed at this and caught Cullen watching her this time.

The revery went well into the night, ending with small groups moving to chat in low tones before finally drifting off to their various quarters. Cullen and Astlyr held a conversation about the rebuilding of Skyhold, and of her adventures below ground. Fen'Harel and Myfanwy joined them and added details to the story.

“We could certainly use the space,” Cullen said as the two elves, breathless from dancing, plopped down in the seats facing himself and Astlyr.

“Fen, would it dishonor the elvish beliefs to allow humans to use the rooms down there?” Astlyr questioned. “You said they were likely places where pilgrims visiting the temple would stay and we have a lot of 'pilgrims' here ourselves.”

Myfanwy looked uncertain. It was clear she had thoughts, but was once again keeping them to herself. Instead she deferred to her god. Fen'Harel considered for a long moment. “I can tell you what other elves might say,” a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “That the place is sacred and must be left untouched by shemlen hands as much as possible. As one of the people depicted on that wall, I know that the elves who once journeyed to leave offerings and climb a frankly ridiculous amount of stairs, have been dead for ages past. We would be wise to use the space to Skyhold's advantage.”

Astlyr watched Myfanwy's face. “I don't like the idea of messing with the temple,” the qunari said, “Perhaps we shall use the rooms, but ensure that the temple itself is preserved and watched over. Elves will be allowed to worship and leave offerings there as often as they like.”

This seemed to brighten Myfanwy's mood considerably. Cullen furrowed his brow, “I'm not certain I like the idea of an elvish place of worship here at Skyhold. We have kept ourselves as separate from the chantry as we were able. Can we invite another religion without upsetting the chantry folk?”

“We're not inviting. It was already here,” Astlyr pointed out. “I don't think avoiding it is the right choice. Skyhold was originally an elvish place and I think we need to acknowledge that. We are what we are here. We didn't build the temple, but we shouldn't pretend it isn't there.”

To Astlyr's surprise Cullen conceded, “You're probably right. Let the chantry be angry if they like. They'd probably be more upset if they found a fortress built on top of one of their sacred places.”

The group chatted on, keeping the conversation light. Finally Astlyr yawned and stretched, almost taking out a nearby server with an ill placed arm. She pulled her errant limbs back, awkwardly, “I think it is time for me to retire,” she announced. She looked around at the weary faces of the friends who were still present. Cullen was asleep in his chair. Myfanwy was nursing her last cup of ale. Fen'Harel had moved off to play a lethargic game of chess with Jones.

Astlyr stood, moving towards the door. As she reached it she felt a hand touch her elbow. She turned and saw that it was Fen'Harel who had stayed her. She leaned down slightly to hear his quiet voice as the two of them walked out of the tavern into the cold night.

“I wanted to speak to you further, Astlyr, about the elvish temple.”

“Direct and to the point,” Astlyr smiled lightly, pulling her coat more tightly around herself. “What of it?”

“I believe there is more that it could reveal to us...” he hesitated, and she sensed he was nervous, “if we visited it in dreams.”

“In dreams?”

“In the Fade,” he said, his voice had a tightness and he moved as though he expected her to strike him.

“How does that work?” she wondered stopping to face him. The torches shone from the wall sconces below where the guards patrolled the battlements, but the moon would have been enough light for her to make out his pale features.

“When we visit a place in the Fade we may unlock secrets it holds only there.”

“Such as?” she tilted her head, planting her hands on her hips. She was keenly aware that she was alone with him in the darkness. She did not feel overly concerned that he would hurt her, it would have been foolhardy to try, but Cole's words about Fen'Harel's lies were fresh in her mind.

“I am uncertain, but there is much history, much memory locked in that place. Some has likely become lost and hidden away by the ages. In the Fade time doesn't flow as it does here. Time is mere a suggestion to the Fade.”

“What do you want from me?” Astlyr questioned, brow raised.

“You trusted me today, to take me with you on your expedition. I ask you to trust me again. Trust me even moreso. Come with me into the Fade and see what the ruins might hold for us before too many people disturb what lingers with fresh thoughts and feelings.”

“Now you sound like Cole,” Astlyr said, folding her arms for warmth. Andraste's tits it was cold. She could see the elf shivering as he stood, looking up at her with an earnest expression on his moonlit face. “How do I know this isn't a trap?”

“You don't,” Fen'Harel answered, his blue eyes pleading.

Astlyr glanced towards Skyhold wondering if she should fetch Dorian, or another mage to accompany them for safety. Fen'Harel's eyes followed her gaze, and as if he read her thoughts he said, “more magic will have a greater chance to drawing the attention of ill meaning spirits.”

“Convenient,” Astlyr mumbled, more to herself as she wondered if his words were true. This was the trouble with knowing that someone was dishonest. Now she expected a lie at every turn. “What about Cole?” she asked.

Fen'Harel considered this for a moment, then nodded. “He would be welcome to join us again.”

“Alright,” Astlyr's throat felt tight as she answered, and she knew what Cullen and her other friends would say. They'd call her mad. Again. She shuddered. One of these days her willingness to wander into the Fade was going to get her killed and prove all her companions right. “But we can't be there long,” she warned.

The elven mage nodded. “I told Myfanwy what I planned, which is why she has not followed me.”

“I was wondering where she was. She's been your shadow since even before you woke up.”

“It will be nice for her to have some time without me,” Fen'Harel said.

Astlyr wondered if the elvish woman even liked the god she had spent her life preparing to serve. Myfanwy never voiced any complaint. The inquisitor turned to scan the base of the wall, looking for a familiar shape. She spotted him, standing quietly in his assigned position, listening for Morrigan's pain in the winter stillness. “Cole,” she spoke just loudly enough for him to hear.

He was at her side in a blink, and Astlyr shivered as the cold gust which usually accompanied his teleportation added itself to the already frigid breeze. The boy took in her state and vanished again. Before she had a moment to look around and try to locate him he had reappeared bearing two thick, woolen cloaks, one for her and one for Fen'Harel. Both accepted these willingly and Astlyr explained the plan to the boy.

“Alright,” Cole said. He was in a surprisingly good mood about the suggestion, Astlyr thought, but it gave her confidence.

“You're certain?” she asked Cole as she wrapped the cloak he had brought around her broad shoulders. She was pleased that he had located a qunari sized one.

The boy tilted his head, taking in Fen'Harel, who was fiddling with the clasp of his cloak. Cole spoke rapidly, in the way he did when sensing someone else's pain. “I want to help, but must not break the chain, the promise. Something greater is coming, but we must be smaller. Move in little steps like a careful dance. Quick like a bird in the snow.”

“Alright...” Astlyr wasn't certain she understood what any of that had to do with the task at hand, but it was always interesting to hear what a god's anxiety might be. She didn't like the sound of 'something greater is coming', but knew she wouldn't get a straight answer if she asked.

To her surprise Cole continued. “Alone, always alone when faced with danger. The old ones are coming. She is awakening them, and she does not know how to control them. She loves more than she fears and she mistakes more than she understands. She is wise, but hungry. The hunger makes her stumble. She awakened the vengeful one and he will lord over her. She mistakes and I...I am so weary of being alone.”

As Cole finished Astlyr looked at the elf rather than the speaker. Fen'Harel made firm eye contact with her. She understood that he was allowing Cole to see this pain in him. She still wasn't certain she understood what it meant. Who was the 'she' that had awakened the vengeful one? Astlyr herself? She supposed perhaps she did mistake more than she understood, but the implication still hurt. If his thoughts had indeed been of her and not another woman, or perhaps a goddess. “Are we going straight down to the temple?” she asked, her breath misting out before her.

“Yes,” fen'Harel nodded. “Before we are greatly missed. I believe this task will be one of mere hours.”

“Well, that's alright then,” Astlyr said sarcastically. “As long as it only takes you hours to trap and kill me.”

“If he tries I will kill him,” said Cole, with a ferocity to his voice like the edge of a blade. Astlyr didn't often hear that tone, and it made her skin prickle even under the warmth of her new cloak.

The three trooped across the snowy courtyard. A few guards looked at them strangely, but then they spotted Astlyr and didn't question the strange night-time procession. The door to the stairs down to the temple had been cleared during the day. Already tools and stone were littered about the opening, ready to be used the next day to shore up the tunnel and keep the wall from collapsing. The slop pile had thankfully been relocated, though the pungent scent of horse droppings still lingered on the snow. Astlyr suddenly realized that she had not thought to bring a torch.

Fen'Harel made a few deft motions and his hand was alight with veil fire. It coiled like fluctuating ribbons around his slender hand. “I will light the sconces once we are in the temple,” he reassured her.

The three trooped downwards. Or rather, Fen and Astlyr trooped. Cole teleported down and was waiting for them in the temple. Astlyr was struck by how open the place felt, even though it was underground. After the narrowness of the stairs it felt wonderful to be able to stand with her back straight, not having to worry about painfully cracking her horns into unexpected protrusions from the ceiling.

If possible the temple looked even more grand now, with only the green glow of the veil fire illuminating it. The gold in each grand mural shone brightly, glinting as though it was fresh-forged, not covered in years worth of grime. Fen'Harel lead the way to the picture of Dirthemen. As he held up his magically illuminated hand Astlyr could once again make out the map, glowing faintly with all its strange symbols, which she could only assume were ancient elven writing. What a pity she didn't trust Morrigan. It would be helpful to have someone else who could read the wall besides the man she knew was prone to lying.

“So, what do we do?” Astlyr asked, pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The cold here had a different quality. Without the wind to bite you it instead crept slowly into your bones without you noticing until your extremities had gone numb.

Fen'Harel lit the nearest veil fire torch and extinguished the glow in his hand. Then he turned and sat on the floor, his back resting against the mural wall below the map. He tucked his cloak in around himself so he was well covered and looked expectantly at the other two. Astlyr sat down, folding her long legs into lotus position, then arranging her own cloak over herself. Cole came to rest on her other side, shoulder just brushing hers. He folded his hands in his lap and looked meditative.

Astlyr had never been good at meditation. Fortunately a combination of sleepiness due to the lateness of the hour, and a bit of ale from the night's festivities, aided her as she let her eyelids grow heavy. She tried not to think about how cold the stone was beneath her, or how numb her ass was going to be when she woke up. Like Cole she folded her hands and let her chin fall to her chest. It was not long before she opened her eyes again, this time to the Fade.

“Holy shit,” she exhaled. The Fade version of the temple was astounding. Instead of a ceiling the pillars reached up and up into a greenish sky until she could no longer make them out. The column carved to look like water in her world was a gushing pillar of liquid which never seemed to splash over or spill a drop on the floor. The one shaped like a wolf twitched the end of its tail, though she could not see its head, it was far too tall. Her ears were suddenly filled with sounds. Speaking and singing. Laughter, wailing, begging and calling. She turned to look for her companions. Cole was still beside her, and once again in his healthy looking spirit form. This time he seemed less secure, apparently not eager to leave her side.

Fen'Harel had stood. He had chosen to appear in his first form again, fiery red hair a bright contrast to the greens and blacks of the Fade. He strode over to the map, squinting up at the images there.

Cole made an alarmed sound somewhere between a yell and a squeak. He jumped and grabbed Astlyr's arm. She turned to see what had spooked him. The temple was now full of shadowy people, moving around and through one another. One walked right through her and Cole, though she felt nothing when it did. Cole flinched, clearly disliking the entire situation. The people appeared to be elves. Their clothing came in strikingly variant styles, from lavish to the simplest garb of peasants. Some of them were taller than any elves Astlyr knew. She glanced sideways at Fen'Harel. He was tall in his current form as well. Perhaps there were different kinds of elves she didn't know of. Sometimes the spirit shapes interacted, but more often they appeared not to notice one another. “What are they?” She asked, watchful.

“Memories,” Fen'Harel turned to see.

“I've never seen memories like this,” Cole said, still holding on to Astlyr's arm. She was again struck by how warm his hands were in the Fade.

“They will not harm us,” Fen'Harel assured them, moving out to scrutinize a few of the figures. “You have seen similar memories, Cole. When we traveled in the Fade and encountered the fear demon. It used a perversion of Astlyr's memories and gave them form.”

“I hated it there,” the boy mumbled, finally letting Astlyr's arm go, but not moving away from her.

“Is something creating these?” Astlyr questioned, looking around. It was difficult to tell if there was anything there besides the sea of semi-transparent elves.

“Not creating, no. But definitely strengthening. I believe we may be in the presence of another spirit.”

“Not a demon?” Astlyr questioned, her hand straying to her hip where she already knew she wore no blade. She wondered if she might use her anchor to any effect against a demon. Fen'Harel still had his magic of course. Damn mages and their connection to the Fade. Then she saw something. A flash of gold and white. The scuttling of many legs. “Shit,” she spat.

Cole, who had more control over his own form here, as a spirit himself, suddenly gripped twin daggers, the curved blades seeming to smoke with an otherworldly green. Grand. Now she was the only one unable to defend herself. As she took up a stance, ready to at least use her size and strength to her advantage, whatever those were worth in dreams, the elf memories vanished. Above them, latticed elegantly between several of the pillars, was a gigantic spider's web. It seemed to be made of silver light and shimmered with pockets of trapped Fade magic, like dew. Astlyr swallowed. Ever since her encounter with the fear demon she had had no concern over spiders of any size, but she wasn't eager to face another now. Not without a sword in her hand. This would be an especially a large one, judging by the sprawling nature of its web.

“Hello,” Astlyr jumped as Cole stepped forward, no longer holding any weapons. “My name is Cole.”

A golden spider as big as Astlyr herself had crept into view from a shadowy corner of the web. It stared at her with many eyes as black as midnight seas. It waggled mouth-parts, but said nothing, seemingly unwilling to draw nearer.

“Don't be afraid,” the boy pressed. “I'm a spirit, like you. This is my friend Astlyr. She is kind to spirits.”

Fen'Harel moved closer, tilting his head back to take in the softly shimmering creature in the web. “This is a spirit of history,” he said, a smile quirking a corner of his mouth. “This is more than I could have hoped for. That one would be so near. They are rare indeed.”

“Why is she afraid?” Cole asked, turning to look at the elf.

“I am uncertain,” Fen'Harel answered. “Perhaps it is merely because she has not interacted with any like us in many ages. Some spirits are wise enough to fear our world, and the denizens of it.”

“But I'm not a denizen of anywhere,” Cole said, looking back to the spider, his brows coming together with concern. Astlyr knew that look. It was the expression he wore when he faced a problem he did not know how to solve. This always troubled him greatly.

“Could she be afraid of the anchor?” Astlyr questioned, clasping her hands behind her back as though this might help.

“Perhaps,” Fen'Harel said. He turned his attention to the golden spider above them once more. She looked ready to draw back into the shadows. The elf god spoke to her, in what Astlyr could only assume was ancient elvish, for a long moment in a soothing tone.

Astlyr watched Cole, who seemed as unhappy as ever, wringing his hands. For some reason seeing the look of sadness he always wore in the real world now fixed to this, healthy, youthful face, made Astlyr's heart tug. Sorrow was wrong on this face. It was the face of a boy with everything ahead of him. Love, happiness, a family. Things that Cole could never have nor, perhaps, ever desire.

When Fen'Harel stopped speaking the spider made a motion with one graceful foreleg. Astlyr jumped and forgot herself, reaching once more for the hilt of a sword she was not wearing. She cursed herself inwardly. She was behaving like a wild animal backed against a wall, not like a friend to spirits. At least Cole seemed much calmed now that all the memories had stopped roaming about.

The spider plucked a thread of her web like the string of an instrument. A small figure appeared in the midst of the friends. It was a little girl, tinted greenish with Fade magic, and semi-transparent as the other memories had been. The child was elvish, as made evident by her ears, and looked to be perhaps ten. She moved with a certain, quick gate to the mural of Dirthamen. There she took something from her belt. It looked like an ordinary stick, but as she pressed it to the wall it left a glowing trail. Carefully she marked the map with letters and symbols, none of which Astlyr could understand.

The girl stood on tiptoe to reach as far as she could, her small face intent with deep concentration. At one point she even stuck out her tongue as she focused. Finally she was finished. She tucked the stick back into her belt and walked away. The marks slowly vanished as Astlyr and her company watched. Then the spider pulled the thread again and the girl reappeared, and she began repeating exactly her actions from moments before.

This time Fen'Harel carefully studied everything she wrote, every mark she made. He nodded from time to time, his red curls dancing like firelight. His sharp features striking in the Fade-light. The little girl finished her work again and walked away. The spirit of history poised her leg over the web, as though asking if they needed to see the memory play out once more. “No,” Fen'Harel raised a staying hand. “I have what we need.”

“And what, exactly, was it that we needed?” Astlyr questioned, feeling she was pointless in this situation.

“The location of two hidden foci.” Fen'Harel answered, his shoulders slumping, as though he did not take pleasure in what he had to say. When he looked up at Astlyr it was the cautiously.

“Hidden foci? The magical items belonging to the old elven gods?” Astlyr asked, trying to decide how concerned she should be getting. Did Fen'Harel intend to continue what Mythal had begun? To waken all the elven gods?

“If we can locate and obtain them,” Fen'Harel explained hastily, “we can keep them out of the hands of Mythal and Elgar'nan.”

“Mmmhmm,” Astlyr folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. She didn't need Cole to tell her that the god wasn't telling her the whole truth. “Alright. An interesting idea, but-”

Cole grabbed Astlyr's elbow in a vice-like grip, his eyes suddenly wide, “Malice! Hate! No no no! Why didn't I see?! We need to wake up. Right now!”

“What? Cole?” Astlyr asked, turning to her friend, but he was already gone. He'd left the Fade. “Fen, we need to wake up!” she turned to the god.

Seconds later she felt her horns clattered against the wall she was leaning against. Cole was kneeling over her, shaking her shoulders none too gently. As she blinked the sleep from her eyes she heard a thundering roar from above that could only be classified as an explosion. The whole place shook and a hunk of grit fell from the ceiling and landed near Astlyr's leg. “Maker's balls!” she struggled to her feet and began running towards the stairs in the same motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man you guys! I wish I could share the next chapter with you right now, but you'll just have to wait until next week! I need to keep my cushion of a few chapters ahead of you to help with editing and keeping the story consistent. But Oooooo I think you will find the next chapter most exciting!
> 
> OK kids, I need your help. I like the spirit they encounter in the temple being called "a spirit of history" but my hubby (who helps edited these) thinks that it shouldn't be called that, as a human could never embody 'history' and he feels spirits should only be things that people could embody. So...what are your thoughts or suggestions for what else I should call her? or do you like the title she already has?
> 
> As always feel free to comment about anything you like! It always brings me joy to have proof that people are reading! <3


	15. Explosions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which shit gets real!

Part 15  
Explosions

As Astlyr stood and ran for the stairs she heard Fen'Harel do the same behind her, letting out a string of elvish words which she guessed to be swearing. She burst out of the passage and into the frigid wind of the night. A gasp escaped her lips as she took in the source of the explosion she had heard. Flames burst from the second floor windows of the mage tower. She heard the horrible sound of buckling stone as a chunk fell off the tower and smashed to earth, nearly flattening a retreating guard. People were already appearing all around, staring agape at the horrifying scene.

“People are inside!” Cole had appeared beside Astlyr, his words cutting into her as deeply as any knife could have. Spurring her from her seconds of baffled stupor.

She swore loudly and profusely, charging towards the tower. To her right she spotted Varric, who was already forming people into a bucket line from the well to try to put out the fire, which was obviously tearing through the inside of the tower. Some mages had appeared, sleep ruffled and bleary eyed, and were directing ice and water spells. One of them shouted to Astlyr as she ran past, “It's magical fire! Be careful!”

Smoke erupted from shattered windows. The courtyard was lit with an eery red glow like a terrible dawn. Astlyr snarled, eying the tower and wondering the best way to get inside. Then she spied Cullen. He was just standing there, head tilted back, gaping at the destruction in progress. She shouted to him, but he didn't move. He gave no sign that he had heard her at all. She ran to him, grasping his shoulder “Cullen!”

The man jerking his arm from her grip, turned, and ran the other way. She watched him go with confusion and anger mingling in her mind. What was he doing? Did he care so little for the mages? Another blast of magical fire vomited forth from the tower and even at that distance Astlyr could feel its heat. She grimaced, turning back to the task at hand. “We have to get the survivors out!”

Cole appeared at her side. “I know where the survivors are!” he said, “but we must hurry! They can't breathe!”

“Varric, bring that water bucket here!” Astlyr called to her friend.

The dwarf rushed over, sloshing icy water as he ran. Astlyr tore a piece of her tunic and soaked it in the water, then she tied it over Cole's nose and mouth, “I have no idea what smoke inhalation would do to you, but I don't want to find out.” She tore another strip for herself.

Then she turned her face back to the inferno looming before them and water soaked rags seemed painfully inadequate. “We're with you!” two mages ran up and Astlyr felt a flood of relief as she recognized Vivienne and Dorian.

“You're sure you're up for this?” Astlyr questioned Dorian as they charged towards the tower following Cole.

“I'm always up for saving the day!” Dorian shouted over the sound of flames, spells, and shuddering stones.

They managed to get into the tower without much difficulty, however, by the second floor it was evident how difficult their climb would be. Magical flames clawed at them and smoke invaded their lungs. Vivienne lifted a fallen support beam out of their path, her pale blue magic flashing bright in the red glow. Another distant bang rocked the tower. Astlyr felt the vibration in her whole body. “What the hell is going on?!” she roared.

“Some sort of magical attack would be my guess,” Dorian shouted back, narrowly dodging a gout of flame that erupted from a room they passed. He turned and blasted the room with ice, the chill of it feeling refreshing on Astlyr's sweaty face before it quickly faded. She could sense the prickling cool of Vivienne's magical shield around her, and could make it out, glowing faintly, around her two companions. She hoped Viv was also protecting Cole. The boy appeared before them, then ran ahead, teleporting back to report what to expect on the way ahead.

“This way,” Cole called, guiding then up another set of tight, spiraling stairs. “They're on the next floor. Hurry!”

Astlyr rushed to follow the boy. The smoke was thick now, and she was glad of Vivienne's magic. Without it she suspected she would have been unable to breathe at all. Even with it she felt the smoke attacking her lungs with each breath. A stabbing pain was beginning in her chest and she ignored it, forging onward though the heat and devastation.

The surviving mages they sought were holed up in one of the class rooms. One of them, an older woman, had produced a protective bubble over the teenage mages in her charge. They cowered, some of them clearly injured, beneath the barrier. When they saw the Inquisitor and her party some of them actually cheered. “We weren't certain anyone was coming,” one of the young mages said.

“I didn't dare leave my students to find out if the path down was safe,” the teacher explained, her arms outstretched as she continued to produce the barrier. “They're inexperienced with protective magics.”

“Do you know what happened here?” Dorian asked. He stepped forward, adding his own magic to the bubble, taking the burden from its original caster.

“No,” the older woman coughed. “I was supervising their late study when we heard the explosions. I thought we were dead for certain!”

“It's alright, we'll get you out!” Astlyr reassured them in her commanding voice, which seemed to have the desired effect of imbuing the mages with some confidence. They stood, supporting their wounded.

A young man got her attention, “There were more of us. My sister and two others went to the library to fetch some more research materials. Can you find them, Inquisitor?”

Astlyr turned to Cole, who was standing at her side, watching over the rescue with a practiced eye. He tilted his chin up towards her and for once had the good sense not to speak loudly, “I don't sense them,” he said. His voice was tight, pained, but she knew he was more focused on those he could help.

“Then they're dead?” she asked in as hushed a voice as she could muster without coughing.

“Yes,” the boy nodded, his hat flopped. Then he rushed forward to help a woman who was having trouble standing. He threw her arm over his slender shoulder as the group headed for the door.

“We have two flights of stairs to get down,” Vivienne told the group. Her own magic was added to Dorian's expanding the magical barrier the elderly mage had created to cover the group. A hunk of stone fell from above them and smashed to pieces on the barrier. Astlyr saw Dorian and Viv flinch, but their magic did not falter.

“What about my sister?” asked the young man, desperately.

“Cole, is there any chance?” she turned to the boy, who was helping the mage limp along.

“They could be unconscious,” Cole said, “though I can usually still sense people when they are.”

“I'll go see if I can find them,” Astlyr said, knowing that the young man would need closure. To know for certain that his sibling and friends could not have been helped. “Viv, will you go with me? Dorian, can you get these people out?”

The tevinter mage turned and met her eyes with his dark ones for a moment, searching her face. He knew he was being sent out because of his wounds, but at the same time he could not fault her logic. He was more likely to lose strength, and Astlyr's keenly tactical mind knew it. This was like a battle and she thrived in battle. He gave her a curt nod, taking over the brunt of the barrier magic as Vivienne stepped away to join Astlyr.

Cole handed off his charge to another mage and moved to accompany the two women. Astlyr momentarily wondered at this. Normally the spirit boy would have helped Dorian and the others flee the tower. Logically choosing to help those he knew that he could. Instead he was going to go with her to find what were almost certainly people he had no way of aiding. He said nothing as he took up position beside them.

“Take care, M'gel!” Dorian called, using the fond pet name he had for Astlyr.

“I always do,” she reassured her dear friend. She didn't need Cole to tell her that it hurt Dorian to leave her. Astlyr turned to Vivienne. “What's the best way to the library?”

“This way,” the tall woman led, her magic flaring and coiling around them. Vivienne was a truly powerful magic user, one of the best Astlyr had ever met. With uncanny skill Viv deflected a falling beam, and shot a shower of ice to prevent a plume of flame form scorching Astlyr's arm. Vivienne's hands moved like a blur as she cast and recast, keeping a magical barrier wrapped snugly around herself and her friends as they went.

The library, when the found it, was almost completely blasted away. What was left of the room was open to the air, and few lonesome pages were caught on jagged bits of stone, fluttering in the icy breeze. If anyone had been inside the room, they would have been killed at once. “Is the route we took the one they would have used?” Astlyr questioned her mage friend.

“It is likely,” Vivienne nodded. “It was the fastest way. I cannot think why they would take a different path.”

Another explosion rocked the structure. Yet more of the wall fell away and Astlyr had to stumble back to avoid losing her footing and tumbling to the rubble below. She felt Cole grab her tunic to help her. “We need to leave. Now!” Astlyr barked, turning away from the sorry sight of what remained of the library. Dorian would weep at the loss of so many books, some of them rare, Astlyr thought to herself as they made their way back. Part of the stair was gone too and they had to make a jump. Cole, of course, merely teleported. Astlyr noted that once again he chose to stay with them, rather than leaving the tower to see to the wounded. She imagined he could sense that the healers were already taking good care of them.

“Cole, do one more sweep. See if you can sense anyone else,” she ordered as they rushed through another hallway, narrowly avoiding where a hunk of wall buckled in and almost struck them. They had nearly reached the exit.

The boy nodded, was quiet for a moment as he reached out with his mind, then shook his head. “I don't sense anyone else inside.”

Astlyr and her friends burst from the charred doors of the tower onto Skyhold's open courtyard. Astlyr blinked in the dimness. Had everyone in the fortress turned out? Most were doing their best to help, though some merely stood back, mouths agape, staring at the funeral pyre which had been Skyhold's college of magic earlier that day.

Cassandra rushed to meet them, her face already sooty. She had obviously been helping coordinate the mages and those who formed the bucket line, who were attempting, to some avail, to put out the flames and to douse nearby structures with water lest the fire spread. Astlyr tugged the rag from her nose and mouth, greeting her friend with a nod, “I think we got all the survivors out,” she reported.

“Andraste save us,” muttered the warrior woman, more to herself than anyone. “What happened?”

“A magical attack, it would seem,” Vivienne supplied, tugging the rag she wore away from her own face. “Very powerful and clearly effective. It would have taken some time and no little effort to lay down so many explosive wards. I suspect multiple mages may have been involved.”

“But who would-” Cassandra began when there was another explosion and everyone in the courtyard gasped in unison. Astlyr turned and her own mouth fell open in horror. The topmost floors of the tower were leaning, breaking free from the rest of the structure. If they fell they would smash a sizable chunk out of the side of Skyhold. Astlyr couldn't even find it in herself to swear. There was no way to stop it, certainly. Was there anyone still in the part of the fortress it threatened? If there was she knew she did not have time to save them.

The mages rushed forward. Those with power over earth and stone forming a line, magic surging from their hands and staves. Their joint powers coiled around the toppling upper tower. Even with their efforts it looked fit to fall. Astlyr acted instinctively. She ripped her glove free of her left hand, then reached out. She felt her fingers press into the veil as thought it were a thin fabric before her. She sank her fingers in, then jerked her arm back, tearing open the Fade. A rift, looming ominous and green, gaped ready to catch the falling chunk of tower. Astlyr silently apologized to whatever Fade creatures she might damage when a large hunk of a building tumbled into their world. She couldn't let the tower fall and take out part of her home.

The watchers all gasped and Astlyr heard astounded shouts of awe over the rift and the woman who had opened it as easily as one might open a letter. She tried not to think about it as several smaller wall segments fell, vanishing into the Fade before they hit the ground.

Suddenly Fen'Harel appeared. He snatched Dorian's staff from his hands and joined the line of other mages. His own magic adding to theirs with a great flash of power that impressed even Vivienne, who made a sound of surprise and raised her eyebrows. With the addition of Fen's magic the earth mages began to pull falling stones back into place. Shoring up the shattered walls as best they could from their position on the ground. Together they patched the damage and eased the leaning sections upright again until they had the tower settled back into one structure again.

This accomplished the mages fell away. Some dropped to hands and knees in exhaustion. Astlyr gave an expert twist of her wrist and arm, feeling the familiar pulling pain that surged to her elbow, then up to her shoulder. The rift before her snapped shut like a jaw. The green light that had illuminated the crowded courtyard was gone in an instant, leaving them all feeling slightly blind.

She rushed to congratulate the mages on their task, even as the ice mages moved forward again to put out more fires. The qunari strode through the group, patting backs and offering words of thanks. She gently helped a panting man to his feet, his hand clasped tight around hers, he looked happily into her eyes. “Glad I could help, ma'am.”

Healers appeared with lyrium potions and Astlyr sought out Fen'Harel. He stood amidst the others. He had dropped Dorian's staff and leaned forward, hand resting on his knees as he tried to collect his breath. As she neared him he looked up, triumph on his sweat streaked features. “Thank you, Fen,” Astlyr said, extending a hand to him.

“That was an impressive rift, Astlyr, and a clever idea. I sometimes forget how well you think on your feet.” He took her offered hand, leaning against her for support as he panted. “I'm sorry I used a staff,” he said between huffs of air. “I would not have been able to give my full power to the task without it.”

“I think I will let it slide this once,” Astlyr reassured the elf. “Though I imagine Dorian wants it back.”

Fen'Harel laughed, his eyes bright with victory. Astlyr knew that look. She had seen it on Solas' face often enough. A wolf who thought himself very clever indeed. She allowed him his moment, smiling back. Myfanwy darted up, obviously pleased to see that her god was unharmed. Astlyr passed Fen's hands to the waiting woman, then moved on to help where she could.

The explosion which had nearly, permanently separated the top of the tower from its base seemed to have been the final one. Astlyr worked tirelessly in the bucket line, accompanied by the chargers, Varric and Cassandra. 

Astlyr was bone weary when they finally set down their work. The tower was still smoking, but the fires appeared to be out. None had spread to the other buildings. She heard people muttering thanks to the Maker and Andraste. Whoever there was to thank, Astlyr felt immensely pleased to let her bucket fall from her stiff fingers.

She looked over her fellow workers. It still seemed that all of Skyhold was there, faces dirty and weary. The mages looked rough. Some flopped down in what snow remained and lay there. The healers rushed to and fro passing out lyrium and encouragement. She could see Cole flitting around in full helping mode. He never stayed with one person long. Merely giving them whatever they might need, perhaps even before they knew they needed it, then teleporting to the next.

Suddenly Cole was beside her. He pressed a cup of water into her hand. Her fingers were so stiff that the boy had to close them around the cup with his own. He watched her for a moment, making certain she took a drink. He placed cool fingers on a burn she hadn't even realized she had on her arm. “Sooth,” he whispered and the pain she had barely noticed melted away. Cole seemed truly in his element, Astlyr thought as she took in his posture and what she could see of his face. He was doing what he most loved. Helping lots of people. Cole tilted his chin up, taking the empty cup from Astlyr he spoke before teleporting away to help the next person, “Cullen needs someone.”

Astlyr didn't think. She merely turned and marched towards the gatehouse tower where the commander had made his residence since coming to Skyhold. She took the stairs two at a time before her mind even had a moment to catch up to the situation. What was she doing?

She pushed open the door, which already stood slightly ajar. His office was in some disrepair. His chair was toppled and a wine bottle was overturned on his desk, leaving a crimson puddle like blood over many of his papers and soaking into a book she hoped wasn't valuable. At first there was no sign of the man. Perhaps Cole had meant her to look someplace else. Maybe Cullen was down in the courtyard helping after all. Then he heard a faint sound from behind the desk.

Cautiously she moved around the heavy object, her warrior instinct prickling whether she wanted it to or not. She didn't trust what she couldn't see. But there was no enemy. Cullen sat on the floor, his back against his desk. His legs were tucked up to his chest and he had his palms pressed to his eyes so hard it looked painful. He was trembling as though taken with a deadly chill. His armor had been thrown aside and his sword was beside him, in arm's reach. Astlyr knew she would still have to move with caution and she found herself wondering if, when Cole had said 'Cullen needs someone' the boy had meant her. Perhaps she should fetch Cassandra, who had more experience dealing with the templar.

Astlyr moved towards him, crouching carefully, as one might approached a wounded dog. “Cullen?”

“No!” he voice exploded from his tight lips. “Get away from me!” he struck out with his hand.

Astlyr blocked deftly with her arm, but forgot her burn. She grunted in pain and Cullen's head shot up at the sound, his eyes focused on her. Almost too focused, as though they saw through her to the wall beyond. Then his expression softened. “Astlyr,” he exhaled her name like a breath. His face was pale and drenched in sweat, his eyes red-rimmed. “I'm so sorry. I d- I thought...”

“Cullen?” Astlyr moved closer, still careful to crouch on the balls of her feet. Ever aware of his blade beside him. Once she was near enough she kicked the weapon out of reach. Cullen watched her for a long moment, still trembling as hard as he had been. He had bitten his lips raw, she noticed, and every worry line he owned had etched itself back onto his face, destroying what youth had rested there and making him look as though he had seen a thousand terrible years. “What is it? What's wrong?” Astlyr asked, keeping her voice low. Soothing.

When he answered he didn't meet her eyes, “I thought I was done with this. That the memories...the visions were gone. And then tonight, when I saw the tower, I c-I couldn't handle it. Something gave inside me. Weak! So weak!” he snarled bitterly, driving the heels of his hands into his eyes again.

Astlyr reached over and pulled his hands away. His fists were so tight she wasn't certain her own weary fingers could loosen them, so she settled for keeping them away from his face. “Cullen, talk to me. What happened?” she coaxed, finally nesting down to kneel before his huddled frame.

He looked up at her with eyes like a dying man. “After the circle. After what happened with the mages there, I sometimes had nightmares. Panic attacks. The memories were fresh. Memories of what they did to me. What I saw. But slowly that faded. I didn't get the flashes any more. I thought I was done with it. Thought I was stronger than the visions. Finally.”

Astlyr made a small sound of understanding, “so tonight, when you saw the mage tower under attack...”

“It all came back. Every gory piece,” he moaned, looking away from her. “Maker, why am I so weak? Why can't I be rid of this?” his lip curled in self loathing.

“Cullen,” Astlyr managed to corral both of his hands in one of hers and gently reached with the other, touching his cheek, guiding him back to meet her eyes again. “You are not weak! Do you hear me? You are one of the strongest people I know.” her voice was as fierce as his was defeated. “You survived when no one else could! I know that when those abominations tortured you and your fellow templars you were the only one who didn't break.”

“But they did break me,” he spat bitterly. “Look at me, Astlyr! Do I look unbroken to you?!”

She grasped both his hands in hers again, squeezing as tightly as her aching fingers would allow, “Yes.” She put all her sincerity, all her clarity behind the word. He had to believe her. She took in his shaking form, a huddled shadow of what he could be, but she still saw a raw strength. He couldn't hide it. It was as much a part of him as her horns were of her. Even crumpled, defeated on the floor there was a glimmer of the warrior in him. She knew he would stand up and fight if asked. If an enemy burst into the room he would go for his sword.

She moved carefully to sit beside him, her own back against his mahogany desk. Her body against his. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, knee to knee. Somehow, even with the difference in their height, here they matched. She didn't risk an arm around his shoulder. Not yet. Instead she spoke again, low and gentle, “tell me what happened to you. I've never heard the whole tale.”

His jaw tightened for a moment and she wondered if she had made a mistake. She had heard that telling someone of a traumatic moment could help you feel better, but perhaps that was wrong. She could have kicked herself, and was considering giving up and going for Cassandra when the man's pained, husky voice filled the silence.

“I was so young back then,” he chuckled. A cracked, sorry sound. “So idealistic and starry-eyed. I knew I was doing the right thing. Following my calling. Helping. I was popular, well liked by my fellow templars and the mages of the circle. Then everything changed. There was a man named Uldred. He was respected and trusted, though he strove for liberty for himself and his fellow mages,” Cullen gave a bitter laugh, “and, Maker curse me, I agreed with him much of the time. But then something happened. I was there and I'm not certain how it began. It was so quick. Like a candle being snuffed,” he rubbed his eyes wearily with thumb and forefinger before pressing on, head tilted back, resting against his desk. “The mages we thought we knew, thought we protected, had turned on us. They captured some of us, myself included, because we were so unprepared. I didn't even have my sword, idiot that I was,” he glanced at his blade where it lay, kicked out of reach by Astlyr. He didn't move towards it, merely cast a baleful look its way. “The mages herded us together. It was then we saw the abominations that most of them had become. And Uldred. A pride demon had taken him. I have no idea how willingly he let the monster into his soul. I like to imagine he fought it. I don't know,” he sighed, drained.

“You don't have to continue,” Astlyr said, reaching across herself to give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“I'm alright,” he said. Though his voice sounded as exhausted as Astlyr felt, she noted he was no longer shaking and his breathing was evening out. He swallowed, then pressed on. “As I said, the templars they didn't kill they rounded up. They locked us in a powerful magcial cage. The best I've seen. The templars they kept were mostly young, like me. Inexperienced. They slaughtered those of our leadership they could find,” Astlyr saw his jaw grow tight at the memory. “The rest of us were tortured, as you know. It wasn't physical torture, though they gave us no food or water. Instead they tried to break our minds, and they succeeded... on all but me.” Astlyr remained quite, waiting. “The things they showed me. It was so real. My mother and sisters being raped. My friends flayed open, alive and screaming. My own belly cut open, maggots crawling on my raw flesh.” He winced as though the memory was causing him physical pain. Astlyr pressed her shoulder more firmly against his. He inhaled then let the breath go, cleansingly. “You know, I met the hero of Fereldan.”

“You did?” Astlyr questioned, intrigued.

“She came to the tower. She was the one who saved us. To my endless shame I...I told her to kill all the mages.”

“They'd been torturing you. You couldn't be expected to be merciful in that moment.” Astlyr reassured him.

“Maker, but she was so kind. She didn't get angry with me. She wouldn't kill the mages. She wanted to save them, and she did,” he tilted his head, turning to look at Astlyr beside him for the first time. “She had a qunari with her.”

“I've heard that,” Astlyr nodded, smiling.

“A male, and he didn't have any horns, but it was clear he respected her. He stood with her like a loyal hound.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean that in the best way,” Cullen chuckled, and it was the first sound he had made that wasn't laden with sorrow. “She was an elf, so he was this great tower beside her, yet you got the notion that she had to but crook her finger and he would slay all her enemies without a moment's thought.”

“It's what we do,” Astlyr gave his arm a careful nudge.

“She got us out and I left the circle. I couldn't...I couldn't handle it there any more. I went to Kirkwall. You know how that turned out.” This time his chuckle was mirthless once more.

“You've had a hell of a time,” Astlyr said, unable to keep the admiration from her voice. “I may have stumbled upon some sort of ancient rift magic that almost ended the world, but I think you've had the worst of it from life.”

“You'd think it would make me better equipped to handle it,” the man sighed, bowing his head, sweaty strands of hair plastering themselves to his forehead.

“I don't think it works that way,” Astlyr said, placing a hand on his rounded shoulders. She rubbed them encouragingly.

“And then, after all that, I go and give up lyrium, which only makes the memories worse.” His teeth flashed in a tight grimace which was supposed to be a smile. “I'm an idiot.”

Astlyr fully committed to putting her arm around him now, holding his muscular shoulders tightly. To her surprise he leaned into her, laying his head against her shoulder. She could feel his calmed breathing. She let her cheek fall to rest on the top of his head, his damp hair not unpleasant against her skin. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, his lips clumsy with weariness.

“Shhhhh,” she soothed, not daring to move. To disrupt the moment. She had to admit to herself that she liked it, after a fashion. Not that he was in distress, but that he accepted her strength in his weakness. Not many men she had known were willing to do that. Perhaps it was because he was so very beaten down, but hadn't he confided in her before? Shared his pain, which he obviously guarded so closely? She was still waiting for him to change his mind. To sit up, all bluster and uncomfortable muttering. Instead he seemed to have fallen asleep. So Astlyr gave in to her own exhaustion and let her eyes drift shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the story has been slower lately we're about to get back on the rails...with even more shit going wrong for Astlyr and her friends! But at least poor Cully-wully got some cuddles!
> 
> Why do my characters keep having PTSD? My Shepard had it, and now Cullen too. It's following me!
> 
> Thanks for everyone who gave suggestions for the new name of the "History" spirit from the last chapter. I still can't decide exactly what I want to call her, but hopefully I'll have it picked before we see her again (and we will see her again, dun dun dun!) If anything else comes to your mind, shoot it my way!
> 
> As always, I love me some comments! While I would totally write this story even if only one person was reading, it still encourages me no end to hear from y'all! I notice that this is one of the few stories (I have found) that takes a non-romance-centric look at the post epilogue story. Feel free to share this with any of your friends who might enjoy it, and if you hang out on any forums where peeps might enjoy it, don't hesitate to link! :D
> 
> One more note, then I promise to shut up. I wanted to take a moment to share that a wonderful writer has left the world today. Remarkable and talented Terry Pratchet has died. I can only dream of being as great of a writer as him one day! I leave you all with a quote from The Hogfather to remember him by:  
> “YOU HAVE TO START OUT LEARNING TO BELIEVE THE LITTLE LIES."
> 
> "So we can believe the big ones?"
> 
> "YES. JUSTICE. MERCY. DUTY. THAT SORT OF THING.” 
> 
> Next chapter: 3/19/15


	16. Rubble and Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter someone blew up Astlyr's nice, new mage tower. What could possibly go wrong next? Well, considering Astlyr seems to have the worst luck in Fereldan you know something will find a way!
> 
> In other news, I made a video promo for the story...because I was bored and I can. Enjoy it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FV0BbpZIjCI&list=UUtrwu4TzHUKh3kbCZZvX_4A
> 
> Here are some lovely pictures I drew of Guardswoman Jones and Myfanwy: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Jones-and-Myfanwy-521029531
> 
> And here is some Astlyr and Cole stuff for your feels: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Faithful-Retainer-517991383
> 
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Little-Rememberances-517992659
> 
> Now enjoy the chapter (which is coming out in the morning today because I have to work in the afternoon)!

Part 16  
Rubble and Ruin

“Ow,” Astlyr woke with a crick in her neck that felt as though someone had been jabbing an iron spike against her spine for hours. At first she didn't realize where she was. Had she fallen asleep in her chair again? No. This wasn't her office. Then she felt an unfamiliar weight at her side and turned, remembering. Cullen was still slumped against her, mouth slightly open as he slept. Her groggy mind cast about for how she had ended up spending the night with the man, on his floor. She gave his face another searching glance. Peaceful. No sign of the raw anxiety and pain she recalled from the night before. But now what? Should she try to rise without waking him? No, that wasn't going to happen. She heaved a sigh and nudged his shoulder.

Cullen woke and sat up too abruptly, “Oooof, Maker,” he groaned, rubbing his back. For a few seconds he seemed as baffled as she had been about his location. Then he looked at Astlyr and turned bright red. The qunari had to try very hard not to laugh as he scrambled to stand, stammering furiously, “Oh, Astlyr, er...I'm-well-we-hmmm,” he clearly decided the best course of action was to shut his mouth and collect his thoughts.

Astlyr levered herself upright using his desk, massaging a knot the size of her fist out of the small of her back. “Remind me never to sleep like that again,” she sighed.

Cullen chuckled tensely, having put the desk between himself and the inquisitor. “Next time we should just use the bed. Wait. No. Maker's breath I need to stop talking.”

Astlyr laughed aloud with her sharp, surprising laugh which made him jump like a flighty rabbit. “I agree,” she said, more to watch him turn a fresh shade of crimson than anything else.

The warrior rubbed the back of his neck and took in his office. His armor scattered on the floor, his sword abandoned in the corner. He looked up at Astlyr with an expression of guilt, “About last night, I'm-”

“If you say you're sorry I will take that sword and slay you with it,” Astlyr said, still smiling. “I'm not sorry, and don't worry, I'll keep last night to myself.”

“Well,” Cullen ran his hands through his disheveled hair, “you have officially seen me at my worst. I expect we'll have to be friends forever now.”

“I imagine so,” Astlyr agreed. She stretched her arms. She saw his eyes go wider for the flash of a second as he took in her full height, and she winced inwardly. Then she signed, resigned. It wasn't as though she could make herself smaller. She gathered her messy hair back into its bun and was about to suggest breakfast when there was a loud rapping on the door.

Cullen opened it and guardswoman Jones was standing there looking extremely agitated. “Oh, thank the Maker, Inquisitor!” the woman said, looking past Cullen to the qunari. If Jones noticed that both looked sleepy and disheveled from obviously spending the night together, she didn't give any sign.

“What is it?” Astlyr stepped forward, worry already creeping over her like a cold fog. Had something happened with the mage tower while she was sleeping; shirking her duties?

“It's Cole, ma'am,” said the guard, leading the way along the ramparts at a jog.

“Cole?” Cullen was right behind them, not even bothering to pull on a winter cloak as they hurried onto the walltop.

“He's in the tavern and he's...in a state,” Jones reported as she ran.

Astlyr felt the icy fingers of panic reach for her. She shook them off, focusing on getting to the tavern. A good commander knew there was no use worrying over a battle until you had all the details. As they went she shot a wary glance at the mage tower. It made a truly pathetic picture in the sunlight. Gutted, tattered, and empty. Workmen were already moving about, surveying the damage. The mages were about, trying to see what they could salvage, and finding any bodies of their friends who had died within. Astlyr knew she would be expected to say a few words for the dead, but she couldn't focus on that now.

Jones threw open the door to the tavern's upper loft, which was connected to Skyhold's wall. Astlyr moved to the rail and looked down. She immediately spotted Cole. He was standing in the middle of the ground floor, which appeared empty of both patrons and furniture. A moment's scrutiny told Astlyr that the tables and chairs had been shoved back against the walls, as though swept aside by an invisible hand. She rushed to the stairs, Jones and Cullen hot on her heels.

Once she had reached the ground floor she saw that the boy was not alone. Cassandra, Fen'Harel, Myfanwy and Varric were also in the room, though they too had fallen back, watching the boy with apprehension as he stood, alone and stiff, in the middle of the room. “What's going on?” Astlyr whispered, moving cautiously towards her friends, all the while watching Cole's still form.

Cassandra answered, “When we finished clearing away the wounded and ensured that there was no more danger to the tower I sought out Cole to ask him if he had any insight into what happened. He began to answer me and then was taken by some sort of fit,” the woman looked baffled, which was not an expression Astlyr was used to from her friend.

“Cole?” Astlyr asked, tentatively, taking a step towards the spirit boy. “What's going on?”

Cole's head was hung low, so much his chin touched his chest. His arms were at his sides, his slender hands clenched into fists. Every muscle seemed tight, locked. As though any moment he might spring into action and murder them all. “I didn't sense it,” he said, so quietly Astlyr almost didn't hear.

“What did you say?” she asked, stepping closer again, hand stretched towards the boy.

“I didn't sense them! Their malice. Their hate. I didn't notice and I didn't stop them. They hurt people and I could have stopped it!” as he spoke his voice grew louder and louder.

“Look out!” Varric called urgently.

Something pulsed out from the spirit boy. A surge of energy that smashed into Astlyr like a wave. It struck her friends and all the objects in the room, pinning them against the walls once more.

“Maker!” gasped Cullen in surprise as he and Jones were forced back.

Astlyr was not pushed back, but her left hand exploded with a familiar pain. The green light coming from her palm was so intense that it shone through the leather of her glove. She ground her teeth together to keep from crying out. Instead she focused her energy on Cole again, “What do you mean? Who could you have sensed?” she asked tightly.

“Those mages. The ones that attacked the tower,” Cole groaned, his teeth flashing in a grimace. His mouth was all Astlyr could see below the brim of his hat.

“What I have been able to get from the boy is that those three mages we welcomed to Skyhold from the Markham Circle were the ones who attacked the tower,” Cassandra filled in from behind Astlyr.

“Cole blames himself for the attack,” added Fen'Harel.

“It is my fault,” the spirit spat bitterly. “I should have sensed them. Their intention. Instead I failed and people died and it was my fault. What good am I if I can't help people?”

This time, instead of another pulse of spirit energy erupting from Cole, he flickered. As though he about to teleport, then changed his mind. His moved at last, holding his hands before his down-turned eyes and flexing his fingers. His whole body flickered again and he gasped. “W-what is happening to me?”

Astlyr moved closer again. The glow of her anchor mark had gone out and only a dull ache pushed insistently at the back of her attention. She tentatively reached towards her young friend. She stepped cautiously to stand in front of him, taking both his hands in her own. His pale fingers vanishing in her much larger hands. She felt him flicker this time. His grip in hers fluttering like the beating of a bird's wings against her palms. Vanished and returned in a heartbeat. “What's happening?” she asked, desperately.

“Cole,” it was Fen'Harel's voice, firm, and instant, “You must not give in to despair.”

“Cold Corridors, wandering alone. Ice and mice and no one remembers. I tell them to look at me but nobody truly sees, and I'm fading. Falling, failing, forced under dark water. I can't help. What am I for?” He flicker again. “I wanted to forget those days, but never can. Like cobwebs, sticking to the corners of myself. Can't brush them away. Can't stop it. I don't want to be nothing!” he gasped, his body vanishing for a long moment before returning.

“He's fading?” Astlyr asked, turning to meet Fen'Harel's eyes.

“I believe so. He thinks he has failed. He believes he did not fulfill his purpose and what is a spirit without purpose? Cole,” the elf focused on the boy again, “You must not give in. You can still help people.”

Cole shook his head, hat flapping with the motion. Astlyr could see her young friend's whole body shaking. She knelt so she could look up into his pale eyes. “Cole, you do help people! You helped last night! You got people out of the tower. We would not have found them without you.”

“I could have prevented it,” Cole whispered, for her alone. “I didn't sense-”

“It was my fault, Cole,” Astlyr stopped his words with her own. “I asked you to listen to Morrigan. I made you focus on one person like that. It was my fault.” The boy flickered again and let out an alarmed whimper. Astlyr made her voice more firm, even though at the moment all she wanted to do was have a good cry, which was not a natural feeling for her. She wondered if she was pulling some of Cole's emotion onto herself. “Cole, do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice a small squeak.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Then if you trust me, you believe that I will tell you the truth, right?”

He sniffed. “Yes.”

“Then listen to me and believe me now. You are not to blame for what happened in the tower. You helped me get the survivors out. You help me every day, Cole.”

“You help me too,” said Cassandra. She was using her best commander's voice, which made it clear there could be no question.

“Kid, we're all here because you helped us,” Varric said. “You helped us take down Corypheus! That's nothing to sneeze at!”

“I can feel them; the people of Skyhold. -- Are we in danger here? I thought my children were safe! Don't trust mages, never trust mages,” Cole muttered in his rapid way. His body flickered again, his hands substantial in Astlyr's, then gone as though they had never been, before returning to her great relief.

“Cole,” Astlyr said, a sinking feeling of desperation flooding through her. Then an idea struck her, she tilted her chin up, still kneeling before the boy, clasping his hands. “I need your help, Cole.”

He appeared to hesitate, looking down at his friend, seeming almost to see her for the first time. He blinked, his eyes as sunken as ever in his wan, youthful face. Ears and nose he would never grow into. Strong jaw that would never come to compensate for a weak chin as he aged. Yet he met Astlyr's gaze evenly, with the look of the ageless. “You--I'm afraid. My friend is slipping, grappling for something I can't understand, but I won't...I won't...I WON”T lose him! Whatever I have to do!” the words tumbled from Cole's lips as he read Astlyr's pain, ending in a roar that did not sound natural from the young man's small frame. “Without my friend I cannot be. I can live, but never as what I want.” The corner of his mouth pulled just fractionally in an almost-smile, but it was enough for Astlyr to breath easier. He paused, “You're entirely too inclined to like people.” he said, low so only she would hear.

Astlyr felt a rush of relief flood through her. Then Cole dropped to his knees so they were both kneeling on the floor, and he wrapped his arms around her. Astlyr reciprocated, engulfing the smaller figure of Cole in a massive hug. She felt his cold cheek against hers as he buried his face in her neck like a child far younger than seventeen she guessed him to be. She clasped him all the tighter and felt a rush of warmth go through her, and the pain in her muscles eased. He was soothing her sore body even as she tried to help him. She felt as though she might shake apart for this spirit boy.

The others in the tavern moved tentatively forward. Varric was the first to join the hug, followed shortly by Jones, which surprised Astlyr as she knew Cole often unnerved the guardswoman. Then Cullen added his own arms to the group, and even Cassandra joined in. Only Fen and Myfanwy stood back, smiling but looking awkward.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” Cole's voice was muffled from inside the collective embrace.

“You didn't scare us, Cole,” Cassandra reassured him. “You can feel our emotions. What did we fear?”

The boy pondered for a moment, seemingly enjoying the arms of his friends around him, “Not afraid of me. Afraid for me,” he answered, and though Astlyr could not see his face she felt his smile against her shoulder.

“Ahem,” the group looked up to see the tavern keeper who had emerged from a back room where he had obviously been hiding out until the issue of the spirit boy could be resolved. “Er...is it alright now? May I put my tavern back together?”

Cole moved slightly and Aslyer and her companions took their cue, stepping back from him. He tilted his head back, giving Astlyr a grin that made her heart break a little. Then he began teleporting around the room, pushing chairs and tables back into place. Astlyr and her company helped as best they could until everything was once again looking as it should. No sign that a supernatural occurrence had disrupted the tavern's delightful atmosphere. Well, no sign save the barkeep's expression, and that of several patrons who peered down from where they had been hiding in the upper floor.

“It's alright,” Astlyr reassured the onlookers, though she was not convinced and her voice reflected this. “We're alright. Right?” she looked at Cole, searching.

“Yes,” the boy said, simply. “I am sorry I did not feel the malice until it was too late, but I can still help. You still need me to help.”

“Yes. I do,” Astlyr said, this time her voice was very firm and certain, and she even tried to project the thought towards Cole, though she knew he could usually only detect the negative.

“We all do,” Cassandra agreed, her tone matching Astlyr's.

“So... what now?” asked Jones, looking uneasy as she put the final chair back in its spot.

“First thing's first,” Astlyr massaged her temples a deep weariness filling her. She felt a gentle hand touch her elbow. It was Cole, soothing away her sore muscles again with his gift. She gave him a quick smile, “We need to locate those mages who attacked the tower. I doubt they died within.”

“They aren't in Skyhold,” Cole reported. “I have been trying to sense them.”

“Could you sense them over a distance?” asked Varric, eyebrow raised.

“Only if their pain was great,” the boy answered, looking down.

“That's always been true,” Astlyr reminded her spirit friend before he could spiral into another attack of self doubt. She couldn't have one of her greatest allies in constant fear of dissolving.

“I'm sorry,” Cole whispered to her, long fingers gripping her sleeve loosely. “I won't let myself fall away like that again. I don't like feeling that way. It was so empty. Like drowning. I don't like the way it made you and the others feel.”

Astlyr put her hand around the back of Cole's neck and pulled him to her for a brief, half-hug before letting him go. Was it her imagination, or was he beaming? Well, as much as someone who looked perpetually heartbroken could.

“What about the templar that came with them? Is he still in Skyhold?” Cullen asked, ever on task.

Cole got a distant look in his eyes for a moment, then nodded, hat flopping almost comically. “Yes. He's asleep, I think. His pain is faint. The gnawing hunger the templars have. They need the blue blood boiling through their veins to keep them whole. Yes. He is here.”

“Cullen?” Astlyr turned to the commander.

“My men will track him down immediately,” Cullen nodded curtly, all military manners in an instant. Astlyr had to admire how quickly he could forget other issues to focus on the task at hand.

“When you finish meet me in the main hall,” Astlyr instructed.

“I last saw that templar with Dorian at dinner. Maker. It already seems a year has somehow passed since last night,” Cassandra exhaled a drained breath, baleful eyes looking over the group. “I can aid Cullen.”

“You need rest,” Astlyr didn't require Cole's help to tell that this was true. There were dark circles under Cassandra's eyes that put the spirit boy to shame. Varric looked ready to topple over and Fen'Harel was leaning wearily against a table. “Jones,” Astlyr turned to the woman whose quaint, amiable face was still bright and willing. The mark of an exceptional soldier. One who got up every morning and looked ahead to the day, never dwelling on the battles of yesterday. “I'm promoting you. Congratulations, you're a captain.”

Esther Jones made a startlingly feminine and high pitched sound as her eyes grew very wide. “Captain, Ma'am? Thank you ma'am!”

“Promoting my men are you?” Cullen asked, arms folded. He was smiling so Astlyr knew she hadn't overstepped.

“Captain Jones, while Commander Cullen's men are seeking out that templar you shall inform the other residents of Skyhold that today is to be a day of rest. The kitchen ovens will be used to heat Skyhold, nothing more. We'll eat only food that has already been prepared unless an individual wishes to cook their own meal. Any who must work, such as Cullen's soldiers, the guards, and the healers, will receive a tankard of ale tonight on my tab.”

“Yes ma'am,” Jones stood straight, saluting smartly, already looking every bit the captain, even in her old guardsmans' armor. “I'll see that everyone is informed, ma'am.”

“Excellent,” Astlyr paused, sensing the woman was waiting for something.

“She wants you to dismiss her in your Inquisitor voice,” Cole whispered from behind Astlyr.

“You are dismissed, Captain Jones!” Astlyr barked, unable to keep the pleasure from her face, but making her best attempt at stoicism.

Jones made the high pitched sound again, saluted, and hurried out of the tavern. Astlyr saw the barkeep shaking his head at the group. She could hear him muttering. “Daft. The lot of them.”

Cullen too took his leave to gather his people, as well as any of Skyhold's spies which he could locate to seek out the templar. Astlyr continued to relate her plans, “I need to find Josie and head to the main hall. I should address anyone who comes with questions,” and she'll make sure I don't trip all over my own tongue while I do it, Astlyr thought.

“I'll stay with the kid,” Varric said, jabbing a thumb towards Cole, who was now squatting in a corner studying a mouse hole. “Just to make sure he's alright.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Astlyr put her hand on the dwarf's shoulder. “Make certain you take some rest yourself. I saw you organizing that bucket line last night.” Varric's hand settled on hers and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. She met his fond, friendly eyes and a feeling of warmth spread through her. There was something about Varric that made you feel safe. At home no matter how far afield you traveled. She turned to her other companions almost unwillingly.

“Cas, you should find yourself a quiet corner and have a nap. You look like death warmed over.”

As she expected the warrior woman was not insulted, but merely smiled grimly. “Agreed. Later I will join you in the main hall if you like.”

“I would find that immensely helpful,” Astlyr admitted. She would have liked Cas to accompany her now, were she not worried that the ex-seeker was ready to collapse.

Fen'Harel and Myfanwy stood to the side, seemingly thinking themselves forgotten in all the business of Skyhold. Astlyr turned to the Dread Wolf and met his gaze, giving him a curt nod, indicating that he should come with her. Then she turned and led the way out of the tavern into the winter dawn.

Outside the burgeoning day was mild. The winter too seemed to be taking a moment of rest. Somewhere an intrepid songbird that was overwintering in the fortress had ventured out to sing a few snatches of its merry tune. The sun was creeping skyward, a glassy golden orb like a reflection of itself in a pool. Astlyr missed proper sunshine. In the winter it always felt as though someone had draped a grey sheet over the world. You could still see light through it, but not with any clarity.

“Do you have any idea what just happened back there?” Astlyr questioned Fen'Harel, who found himself almost needing to jog to keep up with the qunari as she marched.

“Not precisely. From previous interactions I have come to understand that there was a point in his time in which Cole was very close to fading away. He gave me few details as it was obviously a painful memory, but he seems unwilling, or unable, to forget it. It is unprecedented how long Compassion the spirit has spent outside the Fade. Perhaps these kinds of issues are natural for a being more suited to a different plain.”

“We keep hoping it is a natural change,” Astlyr heaved a sigh. “He was doing so well,” she tilted her head back to watch a lonesome cloud make its creeping progress behind a watch tower. “I hadn't seen him upset like that since we got him that amulet.”

“Is he a danger?” Myfanwy asked timidly. She walked at the rear of the group, hugging herself against the cold, though she wore a winter cloak, identical to the one draped over Fen's shoulders.

“He has never been a danger to us,” Fen'Harel reassured her, his tone far more diplomatic that Astlyr's might have been. “Since he appeared at Haven to help us escape he seems to have bonded with us, or our cause. Perhaps it is some combination. He has never harmed anyone at Skyhold, at least that I know of.”

Myfanwy nodded, seeming to take this answer as enough. It was strange for Astlyr to hear Fen'Harel speak of those moments in Haven as though he had been there, though, of course, he had. He had stood beside her at the trebuchet as the dragon flew above them. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Certainly she and Cullen had gotten some sleep that night, but it had been poor quality. The kinks were already starting to re-form themselves in her back muscles. She couldn't shake Cole from her mind. Her head was already full to bursting with images of the tower almost falling. Of what this would mean for Skyhold. Could a person's head truly be this full of so much turmoil. It had been easier when they faced one foe. She didn't like how problems were coming from all angles. Like arrows aimed for her throat.

She felt a hand on her elbow. Looking down she saw it was Fen'Harel's. His eyes, when she met them, were filled with an earnestness she had to admit she was not accustomed to from him. “I believe Cole will be alright for now. We reassured him as best we could.”

“I hope so,” Astlyr felt as though someone had been beating her body and mind. Even when Coryphius loomed large as a threat he had never struck her so close to home. Haven had been a camp, a place to stay, never a home. But, she was beginning to realize, Skyhold was her home. And her people were her home, and when they were in danger she felt her blood run hot, as it did in battle, only now she had no one to kill. Perhaps this was why Iron Bull had people hit him with a stick when he had complicated emotions to work out. Perhaps she could convince Cassandra or Krem to do that for her later.

The main hall of Skyhold was surprisingly quiet. Astlyr expected people clamoring to speak to their Inquisitor. Eager to inform her that they were leaving. That the fortress was no longer safe. Instead, weary, silent faces watched her as she made her way towards the throne, flanked by the elves. She half expected someone to throw rotten fruit at her. What kind of leader did she call herself to allow such an attack?

Without being bidden Myfanwy broke off to fetch Josie as they passed her office. Astlyr suspected the diplomat was waiting inside for instruction. Brave as the woman was, Astlyr doubted she was eager to face a frightened Skyhold alone.

Astlyr achieved the dais, turning to face the gathering. Not as many as she had expected, though she was certain more would come. As she stood before her throne, unwilling to sit for fear she might make herself look even less approachable, she heard the ripple of a mutter go through the assemblage. Then three people stepped forward. Vivienne was one, and the other two were mages as well. Senior mages by the look of them.

“Well, my dear,” Vivienne walked up the two steps to join Astlyr. “That was quite an experience.”

“It was,” Astlyr agreed, wondering when the elegant enchanter was going to light into her. Tear her apart for letting such an attack happen.

“I suppose we must be thankful it occurred at night, as thus not many of our number were endangered.” Viv pressed on. Her expression was serene, not angry.

“Do we know who was responsible yet, Lady Inquisitor?” asked one of the mages who had come forward with Vivienne. They too seemed calm.

This reaction was unexpected, but most welcome, Astlyr thought gratefully. “We have a lead, yes. Cullen and his men are investigating as we speak. Action will be taken, I assure you.”

“Do we have any idea why we were attacked?” asked the other mage. An aging man with more white in his beard than brown.

“No,” Astlyr admitted.

Josephine rushed over to join them then, looking flustered. The papers on her writing board were all out of order and several scattered out all around her like fallen feathers. Myfanwy helped to gather them up.

“I have my suspicions which I will share with you later, my dear. For the moment your people merely need to be reassured.” Vivienne said, her unflappable tone soothing to Astlyr's harried mind.

“The mages all stand beside you,” the old man spoke again. His dark brown eyes met Astlyr's firmly.

“You would be well within your rights to leave Skyhold,” Astlyr admitted, though quietly, so no one else in the hall might hear.

“With respect madam,” the other mage, a woman with her black hair tucked away in an elegant head covering, stepped forward, “most, if not all, of the mages here at Skyhold have seen much worse than this in their own circles. Most were abused by their templars. Threatened with death or torture when they dared to demand better treatment. These people have lived in fear much of their lives. Skyhold opened its gates to them and proved to be the best home any of us have ever seen. When someone harms this home, it would be foolish to turn our backs on the very place that has housed us and healed our wounds. Whatever the cause of this attack, we will stand with you.”

Astlyr felt like her legs might give out. Relief rushed through her, calming the fire inside her like a soothing balm. For once something was going a little bit right. If only it would continue. Astyr was so stricken with gratitude that she could only manage a nod, and a firm handshake for each mage. She was not ready to admit that it may have been her own negligence which had allowed the attack. The knowledge gnawed at the back of her mind. She had let those three mages in with open arms. The templars in Skyhold were relaxed, seldom interfering in the lives of the mages. Had these open doors and lax attitudes made the attack all the easier?

The mages moved away from her, seemingly satisfied with their report. Now, certainly, the complaints would come. Instead some of Astlyr's building crew stepped forward, hats off and clasped in their hands, to demonstrate how serious they found the situation. “The internal damage to the tower was the most severe,” one of them reported, “We believe we have located the genesis of the attack, with the aid of our friends,” the man gestured to some mages clustered nearby. Astlyr recognized them as the earth mages from the night before.

One of them stepped forward, timidly, “A timed detonation, likely allowing those who set the explosive wards a chance to escape. Smaller explosive wards were located throughout the tower. Some did not trigger, which is fortunate for us. We were able to disarm those before further damage could be done.”

“Er, excellent job,” Astlyr praised, feeling awkward, but trying her best to look like she knew what she was doing up there in front of everyone.

“We'll begin repairs as soon as we can,” the builder said. “Tomorrow most likely. Of course, we will have to split ourselves somewhat between that task, and shoring up that tunnel you found so our wall doesn't collapse.”

“Indeed,” Astlyr agreed folding her arms. In her mind's eye she was already helping decide which workmen were best suited to each task. A general selecting her soldiers with precision. “Very good.”

The men stepped back and Astlyr looked out at those assembled. Not one face looked back at her with hatred. There was no blame in anyone's eyes. She felt a rush of something she didn't think she had ever experienced and couldn't give name to. Whatever it was it felt wonderful and it washed away the last of the heat in her veins, replacing it with calm.

A few more people stepped forward, speaking quietly to her of their plans, or even of the mages killed in the tower. Astlyr assured them that she would be speaking at the funeral ceremonies of the fallen. She reassured everyone that the tower would be repaired, stronger than ever. That the templars would be more vigilant for signs of sabotage.

Then Astlyr's attention was caught by several figures marching determinedly towards her. She soon recognized Cullen and three other templars. Two held the arms of the third, whom they led between them. The crowd parted, confusion and concern now evident as the people pieced together what was going on. The middle templar had is head bowed all the way down to the floor, but she recognized his shaggy red hair.

“Josie, may we use your office? I don't need all of Skyhold seeing this.”

“Of course,” the diplomat dipped her head, leading the way to the anteroom.

“The two of you can go get some rest,” Astlyr told Myfanwy and Fen'Harel.

“Of course,” Fen'Harel nodded and led the way back towards the rooms he and Myfanwy had been given.

Once in Josie's office with the door shut safely behind them Astlyr turned to the slumping templar, Titus, were he slumped looking dejected between his captors. Cullen wore an expression of purest disgust as he looked the young man over. Astyr wasted no time. She strode forward and snatched the man's chin in her hand, raising his eyes and forcing him to look at her. He whimpered. Actually whimpered. Trying everything not to make eye contact with the intimidating qunari before him. No doubt he had heard the exaggerated tales of her ferocity in battle.

“What do you know about the attack on our tower?” she snarled.

The man's lip twitched as though he wanted to speak, thought better of it, then changed his mind again. When a sound did escape him he mumbled so badly Astlyr couldn't tell what he was saying. She relaxed her grip on his jaw slightly, realizing she was hurting him. “I know everything.” he managed.

“Everything?” she made a show of curling her lip in a dangerous grimace. “Well then you had better start talking, hadn't you?”

The young man looked so pale she thought he might be ready to faint. She took her hand away, worried she had gone too far. “Put him in the chair before he falls over,” she commanded the templars who held him.

Once plopped unceremoniously into one of Josephine's fine chairs Astlyr addressed him again, this time standing back and folding her arms. Trying to effect a look somewhere between deadly and trustworthy. “You will be shown leniency if you talk.”

“I d-I don't deserve leniency,” Titus murmured, still not looking at her. “It was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I've never heard of a templar setting explosive wards.”

“I let them do it. Kess, Winter and Devon. I knew what they were. What they believed. They-” he paused and Astlyr saw his muscles tighten. Her brows came together, but she let him continue. “They attacked their old circle. They were against the mage rebellion. When their actions, and those of their fellow mages, had destroyed their tower they vowed to seek out and kill any mages they found who sought to rebel against their ideals.”

“And you went with them?” Astlyr questioned. “Why?”

“They had my lyrium,” the boy admitted miserably. “They gave it to me in small doses. Strung me along. I didn't really care. I...I was in a haze, you know? Needing the lyrium.”

“I know,” said Cullen, his voice already gentling with sympathy.

“I let them kill so many people,” the young man moaned, putting his head in his hands. “This time...this time I thought maybe they would stop. Skyhold was so excellent. The templars here gave me the lyrium I needed. Your people were kind to us.” He blinked a few times, his eyes were blurred with tears.

Astlyr had to fight back the urge to put a reassuring hand on his hunched shoulders. 'Too inclined to like people' her memory admonished her. “But did they attack again. Why didn't you warn us?”

“Because I'm a fool and a coward,” Ttius raised his head and met her eyes for the first time. They held for only a fraction of a second, but there was courage behind them. As though he sought to disprove his own words. “They still held sway over me, even though I had no more need of them. I was so beaten by them I listened when they told me not to say anything of our past. I can't believe I listened to them. Now more people are dead. More blood on my hands.”

Astlyr hesitated, watching the defeated templar in the chair. Clearly he was apologetic, but she could sense the crowd of people outside the room. They would not take a teary admission of guilt. They would want to see the man punished for his part in the attack on their home. On their family. Astlyr let her intimidating persona slip, kneeling before the man. The other templars shifted uneasily. She would need to show them that actions had consequences, in case they might be having second thoughts about their friendship with mages. “Why didn't you go with them?” she asked, scrutinizing his wan, dejected face. It was spattered with freckles, she noticed. He looked so damn harmless. Just a lad from the countryside. Though there was always the chance he was putting on a very good show.

“I don't know. Maybe figured I would slow them down. Or perhaps it was to slow you down. Give them time to get away while you figured out that I was involved.”

“Let's not allow that to happen,” Astlyr nodded towards one of the templars, who understood without needing direct orders. He rushed from the room.

“What do we do with him?” Josie gestured to the man hunched in the chair.

Astlyr pondered for a long moment, looking from Cullen to Titus who did not raise his face to her again. “He must be imprisoned for the moment. Until we capture his mage compatriots and get their side of things.” Astlyr couldn't remember a time when Skyhold had someone in the cells below the fortress. The place had been cleaned out and made safe with new iron bars and locks only to stand empty.

The remaining templar nodded and took the prisoner’s arm. To Astlyr's surprise Titus lifted his head as he was pulled to his feet. “Thank you ma'am. This is far better than I deserve.”

“You are not out of the woods yet,” Cullen warned. His voice was still gentle, but there was an edge of firmness to it. It was clear he had little respect for a mage killer. Though he himself had once distrusted magic users, his mind was clearly changed. “A decision must, and will, be made as to your fate.”

“Yes, sir” the young man said, head hanging low again. He was led from the room.

Astlyr looked uncertainly between her two advisers. “Did I handle that alright?” she asked after a long silence.

“As well as could be expected,” Cullen answered, which wasn't exactly the affirmation she had been hoping for. A sly smile crept onto the man's scarred face, “I liked the bit where you scared him half to death.”

“Thanks,” Astlyr said, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “I got a bit worried he was going to piss himself.”

“He might have at that,” Cullen ran his hand over the chair seat to check for dampness.

“I hate to interrupt this...whatever this is,” Josephine raised a tentative hand, feather quill aquiver between her fingers. “But I am afraid I have something else to report.” her body was tense, her dark eyes wary. This would not be a positive report.

“Just add it to the pile,” Astlyr groaned, tilting her head back, as her neck crackled with stiffness. She could already feel the creeping fingers of her former devastation reaching for her again. Why was it so easy to slide back from happiness? “What?” her tone was dangerous as Josie hesitated, clearly unwilling to impart her newest round of bad news.

“In all the chaos last night and this morning...” Josie faltered, perhaps wishing she had waited for a better time. Astlyr was vaguely aware that her posture had changed. Her shoulders squared, her intimidating height and physique on full display. “Morrigan seems to have fled Skyhold...and she has taken the elluvien with her.”

“What?” Cullen snapped before the inquisitor could respond.

Astlyr found herself rendered incapable of speech. She didn't even try. Her mind locked down, shut out everything. This. All of this was too much. How could anyone handle all of this? An attack on her home, the near total breakdown of one of her closest friends, the near death of another. Now Morrigan had departed for parts unknown and taken a valuable and powerful artifact with her.

Astlyr turned without a word. She vaguely heard Cullen and Josie calling her name, asking her things. She left the diplomat's office, marched across the main hall, ignoring anyone who attempted to get her attention, strode into her rooms, and slammed the door.

Once inside, safely tucked away from prying eyes, she let the fire in her blood overtake her. She threw her chair against a wall. She overturned her desk, papers and unlit candles tumbling to the ground. Ink splashed across her floor like dark blood. She smashed her fist into the side of her standing wardrobe and left a splintered indent, little noticing the shards of wood now lodged in her knuckles. She threw herself out onto her balcony, pressing her pelvis to the stone railing and letting the frigid mountain air cool her face. She wiped her bleeding knuckles across her lips, smearing them with red. She licked a hint of the blood from her mouth and it felt right somehow. Here, in this moment, she was only qunari. Not inquisitor. Not showered in questions and responsibilities. She was a wild animal.

She bared her teeth and roared a war cry to the watchful mountains. Distantly she heard a dragon's answering cry. She could not see the beast, but both of their calls echoed across the white. Then Astlyr felt her knees give and she sat down hard. She crouched, staring out at the winter sky. Not thinking, not feeling. Losing herself in the cold wind and the watchful mountain range.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we found out what makes Astlyr melt down. To be honest I think we're all surprised it didn't happen before this. Yeesh. Maybe someday something nice will happen to her...maybe. But hey, at least she had the sense to beat up her bedroom and not any people!
> 
> The mystery of what is going on with Cole continues.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave comments! They make my soul happy (and are the only way I know that people are still reading this shit LOL)


	17. Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crappy day at work. Know what would make it better? Posting a chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Last chapter Astlyr had a breakdown and took it out on her poor, unsuspecting furniture. Can she recover from this? What could possibly happen to her next?!

Part 17  
Moving Forward

Astlyr had no idea how long she sat on the cold stones of her balcony. She stared out at the mountains, tucked in shrouds of white and occasionally dotted with the distant pinpricks of green trees. She sat until she distantly heard a door open and close. Her mind didn't even bother to surmise it must have been her door until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Astlyr?”

The voice finally snapped her from wherever her mind had wandered. She looked up to see Dorian's concerned face. “Hello,” was all she could think to say. Then a grin twitched her chapped lips. “They sent you to find me 'eh?”

“Not to find you,” Dorian smiled the big, charming grin he used when he wanted to be at his most disarming. “They reasoned, what with Cole still a bit under the weather, that I was the person you were least likely to tear the limbs off of.”

“I don't tear limbs,” she muttered, but chuckled dryly none the less. “Too messy.”

“Come on M'gel, you must be freezing out here.” Dorian slid his hand under her arm, attempting to pull her to her feet. This gestured would have failed spectacularly if she had not been motivated to oblige him.

Astlyr realized for the first time that she was shivering. The points of her ears felt numb, as did her fingers and toes. She allowed Dorian to lead her back into her room and shut the balcony doors behind them. He guided her to her bed and sat her there before moving to the fireplace, which was empty and lifeless. He soon coaxed a warming blaze to life with his magic and turned back to his friend. “I see you've done some redecorating.”

“Maker's balls,” Astlyr groaned, taking in the mess she had made for the first time. “That ink isn't going to come out of the rug, is it?”

“I am afraid not,” Dorian sighed, plopping down beside her on the bed. The gesture brought her memories of being shoulder to shoulder with Cole on that very spot, or sitting beside Cullen on the floor of his office. These thoughts finally grappled what was left of her wayward mind and anchored it firmly to earth.

“How is Cole doing?” she asked, urgency making her stand.

Dorian grabbed her wrist, urging her to sit back down. “He's alright. Varric and Cassandra are with him.”

“I assume someone told you about Morrigan?” Astlyr did sit and Dorian gave her hand an encouraging squeeze before releasing it.

“They have, yes” the mage nodded, settling his hands in his lap and staring at them. Astlyr looked at them as well, idly admiring his immaculate fingernails. Hers always had dirt under them no matter what she did.

“Is Cole taking it alright? He's not blaming himself?” She pressed, still concerned.

“Strangely he is not,” Dorian reassured her firmly. “Perhaps Varric and Cassandra are doing a good job of being there to calm him, but I suspect he is distracted from Morrigan by worrying over you.”

“Oh Maker,” Astlyr sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck, feeling the tight muscle there. “Of course. Poor Cole, he could feel every moment of my little breakdown back there, and the others must have convinced him not to come rushing to my aid. That was wise of them. There are times when I just need to be alone with my thoughts.” She thought of herself in that raw, animal state. Pure qunari. Would she have hurt Cole unintentionally if he had come to her then?

“Perhaps you needed to be alone with your thoughts, but not with your furniture,” Dorian pointed out glibly. “It may never be the same.” A frown creased his features and he reached for Astlyr's hand. He'd spotted her bloody knuckles.

He began gingerly pulling splinters from her bruised hand as she pressed on with her questions. “How long was I up here?”

“At least an hour and a half. Enough to worry us all, but we understood that you needed time.” Dorian pulled out a particularly long shard of wood and grimaced, tossing it into the fire like a disgusting dead insect.

“And you're certain Cole is alright? He hasn't started flickering again?” she asked, hardly noticing the sting as Dorian worked on her hand.

“The last I heard he was as substantial as you or me. I'm certain he can sense that you're doing better now and that has done wonders to settle him.”

“I suppose,” Astlyr tried to send a few calming thoughts Cole's way, even if she was uncertain he could detect them. Perhaps the lack of pain they brought with them would be enough to indicate that she was alright. “How are my advisers doing?”

“Well-” Dorian smiled, having retrieved all the splinters from her knuckles. He generated a dollop of snow and lay it soothingly over her wound. Her blood, newly flowing again, dyed the snow pinkish. “Cullen stepped right in as though your vanishing into your room was all part of your plan for the day. You know that way he has.”

Astlyr nodded, smiling fondly. Then her mind caught back up with her and she turned to face her friend, who was still gingerly holding her injured hand in his. “Oh, Dorian, I'm sorry about Titus.”

He gave her a fleeting grin that tried, and failed, to hide the flicker of pain on his face, but he swiftly banished it. “It wasn't as though I we were planning the wedding. People seem to think that if you fancy the same gender you go from meeting to madly in love in seconds. He's a nice fellow, quaint I'd call him, but if he betrayed us maker help him, because he won't get any sympathy from me.”

Astlyr turned her hand over, the slushy snow on her knuckles falling to the floor as she closed Dorian's hands into her hers. “You're a good man, Dorian Pavus. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I...I can honestly say no one has called me that before.” Dorian dipped his head, blinking rapidly. “Damn fireplace is smoking,” he said tightly. “Makes my eyes water.” He tilted his chin back up, proud bearing returned, “Of course I'm a good man. I'm the best man. I mean, how could someone this stylish be anything but?” His voice became serious again, “I popped down to visit Titus. I must say Skyhold has some of the nicest dungeons I've seen in a while. He's in poor spirits, alas. Doesn't handle adversity well, poor lad.”

“Well, you and I been through a lot more than most people have,” Astlyr reminded her friend. “We've had special training at dealing with adversity, and I still had a breakdown and hid in my room.”

“True,” Dorian stood and found Astlyr's wash basin where it had fallen. He took her drying towel and ripped a neat strip before returning to her and holding out his hands. She set her injured hand into his. “But rest assured, M'gel, Skyhold is still very much in once piece. We've taken a moment to breath before the next crisis can erupt.”

“Don't even joke about another crisis,” Astlyr warned as Dorian bound her knuckles with the strip of cloth.

“Sorry,” he shot her a sassy grin.

She bumped his shoulder lightly. He bumped back. It felt good to be sitting there, almost like two children. Best friends with no worries in the moment. If only the moment could last, but it melted away like the snow on the floor.

Astlyr stood, stretching her sore back and shoulders. “Thank you for coming to get me, Dorian,” she said. “Now I had best get back to work. An inquisitor's job is never done.”

“It never is,” the man agreed. “But I'm here if you ever need a good venting session. Just please, let it be though talking, not hitting. Wouldn't want you to do to this handsome face what you did to your poor wardrobe.”

Astlyr chuckled, patting his shoulder a bit too firmly, “you wanted to be my friend.”

“Only because I was afraid if I didn't you would take me apart and rearrange my limbs. I like all my parts where they are, thank you.”

Chuckling warmly the two friends left Astlyr's room. The main hall of Skyhold was quiet and almost deserted save a few peasants who had not yet found permanent housing in the fortress. They looked up as the qunari and mage passed, but made no fuss. People were starting to get used to her, Astlyr realized gratefully. Then she heard a familiar tread and turned to see Cullen walking up to her in his businesslike, hurried way.

“Are you alright?” he asked before she could open her mouth.

“She's just fine,” Dorian reassured the templar before he bid the two farewell and strode off towards the main atrium. Astlyr suspected he intended to hide amongst his books and process all that had happened in his own way.

“I am just fine,” Astlyr repeated the mage's words as Cullen's eyes gave her a searching once-over.

“You're hurt,” he gestured to her hand.

“I got into a fight with my wardrobe,” Astlyr touched the bandage on her knuckles, smiling. “I think I lost.”

“Maker,” Cullen said, though his lips twitched as though he wanted to smile as well.

“Dorian took care of me,” she assured her friend. “He also told me you have been seeing to things while I was...having some time to myself.”

“It wasn't any trouble,” Cullen waved her words away with a hand. “You settled most everything before you retired to your rooms for a rest.”

“That's what you told them?”

“Best I could do on short notice,” he shrugged. “The sound of crashing furniture was a little harder to explain.”

“I imagine you just gave everyone your stern commander look and they all stopped asking questions,” Astlyr said.

“I have a look?”

“Of course you do. No one gets to be as high ranked as you are without a look. I have one too, but it makes people get out the pitchforks and torches so I don't use it very often.”

Cullen laughed and Astlyr took a moment to revel in the sound. It had been such a long time since she had heard a true laugh from any of her people. The family dinner only the night before seemed an age ago. Emotion twanged in her chest. Cullen neatly changed the subject, unaware of her miserable thought. “Fen is anxious to speak to you.”

“Is he now?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. What could the elvish god have to say to her? If it was more bad news she was going to have to find somewhere to go on a killing spree. Maybe she could retire to the deep roads for a few days and murder as many darkspawn as she could get her blade into. “I need to check on Cole first. Then I'll see what Fen wants. Thank you again, Cullen,” she put her hand on his shoulder.

“You're welcome...ma'am,” he was suddenly very formal and looked uncomfortable as he turned with a stiff bow and carried on towards Josie's office. Astlyr shook her head fondly as she watched him go. For someone with so much confidence in his position as leader and in battle, some things seemed to get him so flustered. She managed to contain a chuckle as she went about her business, heading for the tavern where she hoped to find Cole.

She located him easily. He was upstairs in his usual spot. Cassandra was there, sitting on en empty barrel's end, reading aloud to him. He sat cross legged in the floor, listening. As soon as Astlyr reached the top of the stairs he turned to her and the largest smile she had yet seen from him stretched across his homely features. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but it left Astlyr with a rush of happiness. “I am so glad you're feeling better,” Cole said, in the earnest way he had which made you believe him down to your core.

Cassandra set aside her book, also giving Astlyr a smile, though hers was less fleeting. “He was very concerned about you, but I assured him that you would be alright and that Dorian would soon have you back to yourself.”

Cole looked a little sheepish, “Cassandra was right. Sometimes I still don't understand how people make themselves better. I don't like not helping, but I like that you are better now. --No more heat, burning up my blood. Anger I'm afraid I can't control. I am master of it and I scream its name to the mountains and it cools me.”

Astlyr nodded, leaning against the railing. The two upper levels of the tavern were open in the middle so you could look down to the first floor. “I feel much better now. But what about you, Cole? You had me scared for a bit back there.”

Cole hung head head, “Yes. I am sorry. I was...afraid. I though I wasn't helping and if I'm not helping what is the point of me? But then you came and reminded me. Strong hands that hold and carry. A friend wrap around me like armor. She holds me all together so the pieces can't fall away.” He tilted his head up, pale eyes fixing on Astlyr's green. “Once I almost drowned, almost left, but I was alone then. No one could see me then. This time everyone could see me, and they wanted to see me more,” he wrung his hands. Cassandra reached over and steadied them with her own.

“Of course, Cole,” the scarred warrior woman said in the gentle voice Astlyr had heard her use with her wounded men. “You may have been alone before, but now you have all of us looking out for you. And needing your help,” she added a bit hastily.

“I won't leave,” Astlyr saw Cole give Cas's hands a reassuring squeeze. “I am sorry.”

“Stop saying you're sorry,” Cassandra scolded, though her tone was far from commanding.

“I'm-” the boy almost apologized for apologizing and both women laughed. Cole seemed confused for a moment, but then he smiled thinly, looking fondly from one to the other of them. “Fen'Harel wants to talk to you,” Cole said suddenly.

“So I've been told,” Astlyr said, rubbing her chin absentmindedly.

“He was worried about you too,” the spirit boy reported, letting his hands fall from Cassandra's at last and taking his seat on the floor again. “He is also worried about...Her. He calls her Her. She's special, but he thinks she is going to make a mistake. He's worried...and he shuts me out with his old sorrow,” Cole made a frustrated sound.

“It's alright. I'll go talk to him,” Astlyr assured her friend.

“Do you want me to finish this chapter, Cole?” Cassandra asked, sitting back down on the barrel.

“Yes please,” Cole said, eyes bright.

“Once Varric finishes his nap he will sit with you for a while,” Cas said as she opened the book in her lap, carefully spreading the pages with her figertips.

Astlyr mouthed 'thank you' to her warrior friend as she moved on to check on Fen'Harel. It seemed that the inquisitor was forever sought in every corner of the fortress. If only she could go back to fixing privy roofs and exploring elven temples. Things like that were more in her wheelhouse.

 

“Astlyr,” Fen'Harel looked up from the small desk he had been given which was already strewn with papers and books for study. The door to the next room was open and Astlyr saw Myfanwy inside, sitting on her bed, sketching. The elves lived in adjoining quarters. Fen'Harel had a bed of his own tucked against the wall beside a dresser. “Thank you for coming. I hope you are well,” he said, shuffling a few papers into a semblance of tidiness.

“I am,” Astlyr assured the elf as he began to bustle about, stacking books out of the way to make an open space on his desk. Astlyr looked around the small room the elf had been given. The furnishings were spartan. Outside in the hall two guards, one mage and one templar, were still stationed, though Astlyr was not certain how necessary they were. Myfanwy's room was the same as Fen's, though she had hung some of her pictures on the walls. The charcoal faces watched over her as she worked. The walls of Fen's room seemed empty indeed, especially when Astlyr thought of the lavish frescoes painted in Solas' old office.

“What did you want to talk to be about?” Astlyr questioned, watching the elf move about with interest.

“Ah. Here.” he held up the paper he had clearly been hunting for. “After everything that happened I wanted to mark down what we saw on the wall in the temple. Before the attack.” His voice turned briefly solemn.

“What we saw in the Fade you mean?” Astlyr clarified.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel nodded, tilting the paper so she could see it as well. A crudely drawn map was scribbled there with some of Myfanwy's charcoal. “You see here, here and here. Foci locations.”

“Like the orb of Destruction?” Astlyr questioned, planting her hands on her hips.

“Yes, and no. The orb was merely one foci for one god.”

“The god of vengeance,” Astlyr reminded him, her tone wary.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel agreed, tilting his head like a dog who has just been caught trying to steal off the table. Astlyr could not help but envision his wolf form. Tail tucked in disgrace. The god pressed on, “I am aware that the mage, Morrigan, has fled and taken her elunvian with her.”

“So it would seem,” said Astlyr through gritted teeth, feeling her anger bubbling deep in her chest. Like magma deep under her surface.

“I believe that she is under the influence of Mythal. I am not certain what her plans are for the traveling mirror, but I know that Mythal intends to awaken the elvhen old gods, and I believe her power is once again sufficient to seek out their foci to do so.”

“What would this mean for us? It is an elvish matter in the end, isn't it?” Astlyr questioned.

Fen'Harel sighed as though she was a bit thick, “It is elvish...until it is not. Elves make up a deal of this world's population. Many are imprisoned and enslaved. Many travel as nomadic Dalish, but they are very much a part of the world and will have a profound effect upon it. Especially if their faith is finally confirmed. If their gods walk amongst them again. You saw how the humans behaved at the mere notion that their goddess had chosen you as a herald.”

Astlyr grimaced. “So you think this is dangerous, what Mythal is doing?”

“Very much so, yes,” Fen sat down heavily, with a defeated sound.

“Didn't you intend on helping her with the resurrection plan?” Astlyr questioned, brows raised.

“In a way,” Fen'Harel said, his voice quiet. “I wished to stall her for a time. To assess what The People had become. To see if it was indeed the right time to bring back their gods.”

“And? I've heard you speak scathingly of the Dalish. What are you thoughts now?”

Fen'Harel winced. A flash of white teeth. “I have found, in my travels, The People to be much changed. I believe if their gods returned to them now it would be a grave mistake. Especially with the influence of Elgar'nan.”

“So what do we do?” Astlyr questioned, willing her voice to remain steady.

“As I suggested, we should gather as many of the foci as possible. We must prevent Mythal from resurrecting the Old Gods.”

“And we know where three foci are?” Astlyr leaned to look at the map which Fen'Harel had set on the desk as he slumped into his chair.

“Indeed.”

“Well, this one is within a week's ride,” she pointed. “And these two seem to be near enough to one another to gather them both in one trip. I say we get an expedition together and find those foci. We can decide what to do with them once we have them safely out of harm's way.”

“I am truly sorry you must have a hand in this at all. I deeply wish that this could remain my affair alone.” Fen'Harel said, and he was managing a very pathetic look. She might have believed it to be surrender, if not for the ever-present clever glint shining in his eyes. She half expected him to grin and show his fangs. Her mind cast back to Cole's words. 'He lies to you sometimes.' She watched the man on the chair for a few moments, wary. He seemed to sense her look, but said nothing. Another way he demonstrated his intelligence.

“Alright,” Astlyr sighed. “My team is in no condition to move out immediately, but I will discuss this matter with my advisers and, as long as they do not laugh me off for being so easily taken in by you, we will set out to investigate these foci.

“Thank you, my friend.”

She felt her steely resolve not to trust him melt fractionally. 'My friend'. Why was she such a sucker for those words? Solas had called her that, in that same voice, and he had kept a very large truth from her. But then, what could she have gained by knowing his identity at the time? Would she have demanded he used god powers he did not possess to help her win the day? Perhaps she would have tried harder to save the orb, but it might have just as easily found its way to Mythal's hands if she had. At least this way she had him here, to keep an eye on him. She glanced at Fen and this time he was watching her with a keen, intelligent gaze. “Is there anything more you can tell me about what happened to Cole? I know you' re holding back,” she said, gambling that she was right.

Fen'Harel flinched. He stopped making eye contact, staring at his desk as though not seeing it. He was a million miles away. She hesitated, wanted to press the issue, but sensed he did intend to answer. He raised his eyes to her at last, an odd expression on his face. “I...I wish I could tell you more. I wish I was holding more back, but the truth I can tell you now is that I cannot recall. I have vague memories of ages past. A time before the gods slumbered. I can remember spirits,” he sat forward, resting his elbows on the desk and his face into his hands. His voice was partially muffled as he continued. “In my time ages ago many spirits walked amongst us, and I know that sometimes they were able to change. I believe Cole has changed from what he once was when he 'haunted' the White Spire. He's more outwardly focused. Less frightened for himself, more concerned for everyone else.”

“He was frightened for himself earlier,” Astlyr pointed out, rubbing the back of her neck. A lingering habit she shared with Cullen. “He's been telling both of us he feels something happening to him. I wish I knew what.”

“As do I,” Fen'Harel raised his head from his hands and met her eyes. His held a cloudiness she couldn't place.

She sighed. If he was lying to her she didn't have the energy today to force honesty from him, if she even could. It was one thing to terrify a young templar who was obviously already frightened of her. Quite another to intimidate a god. “I will see you later, Fen'Harel,” Astlyr said, giving him a nod, which he returned before moving back to open a few books and fetch out some clean paper for writing.

“I thank you, Astlyr,” the elf said, head already bowed over his work.

Astlyr turned to go, but as she did she caught sight of Myfanwy, sketching quietly in the next room. Astlyr moved to the doorway and gently wrapped her uninjured knuckles on the door frame. “May I come in?”

The elvish woman looked up from her work. Her dark curls had been hiding her face, but fell away as she lifted her head to greet the inquisitor. “Certainly,” Myfanwy said, gesturing that Astlyr should enter.

Astlyr considered on of the two chairs beside the table, then thought better of it. Elf sized furniture seldom held up under a qunari backside. Instead she moved about the room, appreciating all of the art. Myfanwy had a firm hand. Each line and sweep of the charcoal was sure and controlled. Mistakes were embraced as part of the picture. Astlyr, having no artistic talent aside from scribbling the odd map, was sufficiently impressed. “There are a lot of drawings of Daveth,” she mused. She knew the young man in the pictures was Myfanwy's brother, not Fen'Harel because she could see that he still wore the facial tattoos that matched his sister's. Myfanwy had an excellent grasp of motion, and Daveth was in action in almost every drawing. She saw him climbing and jumping out of trees. Him running or leaping into a shallow stream. Always with an open, happy expression. “What was he like?” Astlyr asked in a quite voice. She wasn't eager for Fen'Harel to overhear from the next room.

Myfanwy looked up, a startled expression on her face. Astlyr thought she must have made a mistake saying 'was'. Perhaps the elvish woman still held out hope that her brother was somehow still there. Perhaps buried under Fen'Harel's stronger consciousness. They had no proof to the contrary, Astlyr mused. Myfanwy blinked a few times, letting her own eyes flow warmly over her drawings. “He was...” she paused, as though unable to find the right words.

“We don't have to talk about this.”

“No,” Myfanwy said, hastily. “I want to. You're...you're the first one to ask me.”

“Fen didn't ask you?”

“I think he's afraid to, because he thinks he stole Daveth's body. It was freely given. It was all my brother ever wanted. To aid his god.”

Astlyr moved to sit on the foot of the bed, a respectful distance from the elf, who leaned against the headboard, legs tucked up with drawing pad balanced on her knees. “Alright. What was he like?”

“Daveth was...” Myfanwy cast her eyes skyward, as though the stone above might give her some remembrance. Astlyr wondered if she missed the open sky, having lived in the wilderness most of her life, avoiding civilization. Myfanwy never complained. Astlyr had a good deal of admiration for that. She waited for the elvish woman to continue. “Daveth was a free spirit. I'm the elder of the two of us. I always had to be the serious one. Making sure we survived, all our day to day business, especially after our mother and father died. Living outside the clan was hard, but Daveth kept our spirits up. He was forever finding things to play at. He could make a game of anything. Finding firewood suddenly became a challenge to only walk across fallen logs without touching the ground. Foraging for dinner became a test to identify and name every plant we saw.”

“He sounds like a great brother,” Astlyr said, smiling. Growing up she had often found herself longing for a sibling. Her childhood had sometimes been a lonely one. There had been no children around for her to play with either. The nearest village had been miles away and they seldom visited it. When they did have to go into town the human children there were afraid of her. “I always wished I had a brother or sister to keep me company,” she admitted.

“Of course he wasn't always fun and play. He took his studies very seriously, if nothing else. When he couldn't get a spell right he would get so angry with himself. He wanted to become stronger to please Fen'Harel, but his true skill had always been with healing. His earth abilities were secondary. He trained them daily, but he was often left frustrated.”

“Did you like the idea of Daveth giving his life to Fen'Harel?” Astlyr questioned, knowing she was treading into very personal territory. Perhaps her sleep deprived mind was too muddled to censor herself properly.

Myfanwy didn't seem to mind. Perhaps she was pleased that someone was finally taking an interest in her. Astlyr wondered if the elvish woman felt lost in her own life. Once such an important part of Daveth's life, not merely a tag-along. Astlyr shook the thoughts from her head as Myfanwy spoke again, her hand moving compulsively to sketch as she did so. “I had always thought I was excited as Daveth was. I knew my role. I was helping my brother and most importantly, helping my god. I was needed, necessary to the process. I knew I would miss him, but I suppose part of me hoped that...well that more of him would remain,” he chewed her lip, eyes downcast to her paper, thick, dark lashes obscuring them. “I see flashes sometimes. In the way he smiles, or moves. Little hints of Daveth. I see it most when he uses magic.”

“Does it make it better or worse to see those glimpses of your brother?” asked Astlyr, watching the charcoal move over the top of Myfanwy's paper. It was oddly fascinating.

Myfanwy gave a pained smile, “Both. At times I feel so happy to see a part of Daveth show though. Other times it makes me remember that my brother is gone and a stranger is wearing his face. I'm sorry,” she corrected herself hurriedly, “My Lord Fen'Harel is not a stranger. Not truly. I mean, I never knew him personally, but my family always honored him. Always told the old tales the way they were meant to be told.”

“The way they were meant to be told?” Astlyr asked, intrigued.

Myfanwy nodded, “most stories paint Fen'Harel as the Dread Wolf. The pragmatic trickster who may come to help you, but more often to hurt you. He's an omen of trouble to them. Of evil. My family told tales of a kind, but lonely wolf. No pack to call his own he traveled the land, sometimes helping, often teaching. He wanted the best for his people, and he loved children.”

Astlyr's mind cast back to the mural of the wolf god she had seen in the temple below Skyhold. How Fen'Harel had been surrounded by youngsters. She had thought them a metaphor for his people. Perhaps that he loved them like his children. It seemed instead that the picture might be literal. “How do you find the real Fen'Harel to be?” Astlyr questioned.

Myfanwy seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Sad. He has a low opinion of the Dalish, and it is not merely because they view him in such a negative light. He says that they are so far from what they once were, but he does not feel that they have gone in the right direction. He fears what they could become with a mere nudge in the wrong direction. He had hoped to awaken to find them changed for the better. Instead he merely found them changed.”

“He seems to confide in your a great deal,” Astlyr raised her eyebrows.

“He has little choice,” Myfanwy chuckled. “I am always near him.”

“You don't have to be,” Astlyr said, feeling a deep sense of trust for the elf come over her. Perhaps it was misguided and encouraging Myfnwy would only lead to another attack like the tower, yet she felt compelled to continue. “If you like, you can leave the guards with him and walk about Skyhold on your own. All of my inner circle have come to know you after we all recovered together in the infirmary. I am certain they would enjoy your company.”

Myfanwy looked pleased, “I would like that,” she said, then blushed as though suddenly ashamed. “Not that I am unhappy here. The room is very...nice and Fen'Harel is excellent company. I speak to the guards who come to watch over us.”

“Are you always so...formal?” Astlyr had been going to say 'uptight', but thought better of it in time.

“Yes,” Myfanwy said, but she was smiling. Her smile made her eyes shine like river stones in a clear stream. Bright and intelligent. There was much about Myfanwy that was guarded, but her smile was honest and Astlyr liked it at once. “Here,” the elf picked up the paper she had been sketching on. There was a picture of Astlyr, her face contemplative. It was strange to see herself as someone else saw her. To her surprise, even with the horns standing out as they always did, Myfanwy had not captured an ounce of malice or aggression. Instead, Astlyr recognized a restful, listening expression on her own features. Myfanwy handed over the drawing. “You may keep it.”

Astlyr took the gift. “Thank you, Myfanwy. And don't forget that you have my permission to explore Skyhold a bit. Just stay out of the darker corners.”

“Right,” the elf said, and her tone was serious. Then Astlyr realized it was a mock severity. This made the qunari wonder how often Myfanwy was truly dower, and how often her subtle mood went right over the heads of her fellows. Ah well, it would be better to ponder these things after she'd had a good rest. She certainly had a great deal to think about over the coming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** Hooray for kind Tevinter mages and happy spirit boys! Things aren't so bad when you have lots of friends to pick you back up when everything goes wrong!  
> Soon we'll be out of Skyhold and adventuring again. Sorry it took so long! I keep throwing more and more irons into the fire. Eventually it is going to be more iron than fire! But we're getting there, slowly and surely! Eventually all the knots will be untangled...we hope. And hey, at least you got to know Myfanwy a little better. Poor neglected OC!
> 
> Has anyone played the new DLC yet? I can't because I am one of those filthy Xbox 360 users. (I'm poor! If only fanfic could make me money!) I have watched the beginning of an LP and it looks as though the information gathered in this particular DLC will have no bearing on this story. I am a little concerned because I had hoped to have this lengthy tale finished before Bioware could come out with something to show you all how wrong wrong wrong my version is. If they do, I hope you'll all keep reading, if for no other reason than to see Astlyr and Cullen FINALLY hook up. It's coming, I swear!
> 
> As always, comment if you can! Comment let me know you're reading and enjoying my rambles, plus make me feel all fuzzy and loved! (Cole would want you to comment!)
> 
> Next chapter: 4/02/15


	18. The Wolf in The Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the long chapters begin! Seriously, I swear they just keep getting longer. Sorry (not sorry) for all this reading I will not put you through! Hahaha!
> 
> In other news, this is how much I love you: I just got back from work, have not eaten lunch, and here I am posting a new chapter for y'all!
> 
> Last chapter we had a bit of a slower time as Astlyr got to recover mentally from all the shit that keeps happening to her. In this chapter: more shit happens to her! Enjoy!

Part 18  
The Wolf in the Wild

Three days hence saw Astlyr making travel preparations. Things in Skyhold had gone back into full swing, with the added tasks to repairing the mage tower and shoring up the wall. Visitors with any skill at all in those fields were encouraged to help out. Those with expertise were paid a respectable sum. The greatest loss in the tower may have been the library. Many rare tomes had been gathered there. Astlyr couldn't cross the courtyard past the structure without hearing some mage bemoaning the loss.

Skyhold's spies and scouts had been mobilized to try to locate the three mages who were responsible for the attack. Since that fateful night Astlyr had been very cautious of who came into her fortress. No new mages had arrived, but she was careful to have Cole with her whenever a new group of refugees came knocking. Everyone in the fortress was still slightly on edge. She could hear it in the silence at the tavern and see it in the furtive glances people cast at one another. They were a kicked dog, uncertain if another blow was coming.

Astlyr was in a good mood as she checked and double checked her supplies. This was going to be a proper trip. Days of travel. Sleeping out under the stars, even if they were cold, winter stars. Time spent doing what she loved best. Adventuring. Admittedly it had taken a good deal of convincing to persuade Cullen, Cassandra and Josephine that the trip was necessary. Another report of an emptied alienage had come in and Astlyr used that as leverage for her argument. Who knew what Mythal might be up to? Wouldn't it be nice to be one step ahead for once?

“You have the maps?” she asked Fen'Harel for the third time.

The elf chuckled, but still willingly pulled the carefully rolled parchments from his satchel to show her. She nodded with satisfaction, scrutinizing the things she had laid out on the table before her. Her party had gathered in the forge, as it was a warm location to muster from. Cassandra leaned around Astlyr's shoulder, her practiced eye gliding over the content of the inquisitor's pack. “It all looks good to me,” she nodded. Everyone carried the same basic traveling supplies, though the qunari often filled her own bags with an excess.

Astlyr began putting each item carefully into her pack. Tools for fire lighting. A bedroll folded and tied so tightly it was hard to recognize. Extra water skins and bandages. A knife for skinning any small animals they hunted. Three packs of dried meat and a four hard traveling loaves wrapped in cloth. The rest of their food would be carried in the saddlebags, but once thieves had raided their camp and made off with several packs of food, leaving the party hungry for days. Now Astlyr always kept some on her person. She erred on the side of having too much rather than too little. She could carry a heavier load than the others after all. “Where is Varric?” she stood back on her heels, taking in the assemblage.

There were Fen'Harel and Myfanwy of course. Dorian was sitting to one side, checking his boots for signs of wear. Cole was seated by the forge fire, watching the flames dance with interest, occasionally pumping the bellows when the blacksmith needed. The blacksmith's apprentice sat nearby, seemingly enjoying the reprieve from his usual task. Astlyr's heart gave a sad twinge, feeling the absence of Iron Bull. He had protested that he was recovered enough from his wounds to join them, but she had requested he stay behind. If he felt up to it he and the Chargers would head out to hunt the rogue mages. She didn't fancy the three terrorist's chances against The Iron Bull and his people. He had once been Ben'Hasrath after all. She almost pitied the mages. Almost.

Cullen entered the forge, pausing to stamp slush from his boots before stepping inside. “It's still snowing a bit, but lightly,” he reported, taking in the group, “the horses are almost ready.”

“Thank you,” Astlyr smiled at him. “I'm sorry you have to remain at Skyhold for this one,” she said, and she meant it. She had been hoping, now that the world was supposedly saved, that the commander could join the party on more missions.

Cullen shook his head with a wan smile stretching the scar on his lip. “I understand why I cannot.”

“With Skyhold still in some turmoil and people no longer confident of their absolute safety here, it is important to have a strong and respected military commander remaining behind to oversee things,” Astlyr spoke as though she were reading from a manual. Cullen had said those very words to her the night before when she had asked if he might join the travelers.

“He's right you know,” Cassandra said, suspecting that Astlyr's words were Cullen's not the Inquisitor's. She turned to the man, “I could remain. I have offered-”

Cullen raised a forestalling hand, “My remaining here is more sensible. You have far more field experience with this team, plain and simple. Who knows what you might face. It would be better if Astlyr had more people she knew how to work with.”

“As soon as things settle down here you can come with us,” Astlyr reassured the templar, resting a hand on his upper arm. Her thoughts flashed to the last time he had journeyed with them. Her mind's eyes could see the arrow jutting from the place she touched and she winced inwardly. Perhaps he had more than one reason for wishing to remain at Skyhold.

Varric burst into the room, making an entrance as always. Bianca was slung dramatically over his shoulder and he made certain to strike what Astlyr knew he imagined to be a heroic pose, framed by the light in the doorway. Dorian laughed aloud. “Sorry I'm late. My special lady friend needed a little extra attention today.” the dwarf announced.

“He means the crossbow,” said Cole from where he stood beside the forge.

“Sexual innuendo is lost on you, eh Kid?” Varric sighed, still smiling none the less. He was clearly as excited about a bit of adventuring as Astlyr was. He had been one of the few friends who had not tried to talk her out of the expedition.

“Do you have everything packed, Varric?” Astlyr questioned her friend, trying to contain her smile about as successfully as Cassandra, who had to turn her back to hide it.

“All gathered and already in Stumpy's saddle bags.” Varric said, letting his shoulders relax from his heroic pose as he strode farther into the room. He let his eyes scan over the group. They had all become accustomed to looking out for one another, and they instinctively studied each other routinely for loose armor, or a forgotten pack.

“Your horse's name is Juniper,” Dorian pointed out. Varric even gave nick names to the animals.

“Stumpy fits better,” the dwarf insisted, grinning as he finished his scrutiny of the gathering and seemed satisfied. “Coming with us, eh Puppy?” he gave Myfanwy a warm handshake, as though officially welcoming her to the group.

Astlyr gave the party one last practiced scrutiny, as was her habit as commander, then led the way out into the muted daylight. The snow Cullen had spoken of drifted down in fat, puffy flakes. They reminded Astlyr of the flakes of soap the washerwomen sometimes used for cleaning the laundry. A thick snowflake caught in her eyeslash and she blinked it away feeling alive and happy for the first time in a while. She knew she was coming to love Skyhold dearly, but some times she just needed to be away from it. Getting her feet muddy and her blade blood soaked.

The horses were led out into the yard by the stable hands. Astlyr checked Smoke's cinch, then swung her long leg up over the dapple grey's broad back. As she situated herself she was about to lean over to slip her foot into the stirrup when she found that someone else gently placing it there for her. She looked down to see Cullen, who acted as though this strangely intimate motion were perfectly normal. He straightened and patted Smoke's flank fondly. “Be certain to get your master back in one piece,” he instructed the warhorse, almost as he would a soldier under his command.

“Smoke always takes good care of me,” Astlyr said, giving the horse's neck and vigorous rub with her gloved hand. “Take good care of my fortress for me, Commander.”

“I always do,” he gave her a little smirk. Just a hint, quirking the scar on his lip.

Astlyr looked across the courtyard at her company. All were mounting up easily, save for Myfanwy who looked at her horse with some concern. “What's wrong?” Astlyr questioned the elf.

“I have never ridden one of your Shem- I'm sorry,” she seemed to grit her teeth for a moment, then found the right words, “I have only ridden Halla. I am uncertain about this...horse.”

“What concerns you about it?” Cullen asked, signaling with a hand motion that the others should remain mounted. “Did the stable hands not show you how to ask it to go where you want?”

“I was instructed,” Myfanwy said, still scrutinizing the beast, “but I still do not understand all of this,” she swatted a stirrup. Her mount, a gentle brown mare which had been chosen for her docile good nature, turned her head to see what had so upset her newest rider.

“The saddle?” Cullen raised an eyebrow. “You sit on it?”

“Why? The animal's back would be sufficient, and far more comfortable.”

Cullen seemed at a loss, but Cassandra answered for him, “the saddle can hold packs which would be difficult to carry if the horse was bareback.”

Myfanwy wrinkled her nose and sighed, but seemed to take this answer. Cullen moved to hold the stirrup for her, but instead of sliding her foot in the elf mounted with a nimble leap and swing of her leg. She took up the reins with a look of scorn still planted on her delicate features. “Halla have no need of bits and bridles,” she said, perhaps a little haughtily. Astlyr raised an eyebrow. This was the first time she had seen this side of Myfanwy. “A halla responds to the gentlest touch of hand or leg.”

“Horses can do that as well,” Astlyr said, “ but they must be trained and very obedient to their rider. Gossamer doesn't know you, and she can be a little lazy, so you'll need the reins. If you want to work with her so she will one day behave the way you would like, I am certain it will not go amiss.”

Myfanwy gathered more rein clumsily. Gossamer was often used as a lesson horse, so she little minded when her mouth was pulled accidentally, but Astlyr still winced in sympathy.

“I think you will find horses not to be the dull creatures you might at first assume,” Cassandra reassured the elf.

“I hope you are correct,” Myfanwy muttered, though she did give Gossamer’s neck a rub.

Once the party was mounted and ready Astlyr turned Smoke's nose towards the main gates and squeezed his sides with her legs. The horse surged forward at the pressure, tossing his head with the joy of being free of his stall and able to move again. In the summer the horses would be taken further down the mountain and pastured so they could stretch their legs and crop the fresh green. In the winter they went terribly stir crazy in their stalls. Cass's red mare bucked a few times to work out her kinks. The warrior woman road the motion easily. Dorian had a bit more trouble as his mount expressed its pleasure. He had to pull up too sharply on the reigns. Even Cole's little horse, Shadow, kicked up his heels as he trotted beside Smoke.

Astlyr cut one more glance over her shoulder at the fortress she called home. From outside the gate on the massive stone path which led down to the mountain road, Skyhold looked whole, hale and ready for anything. There was no outward sign of the inward strife. She felt her jaw clench, wishing she could be more like the fortress. She let her soft underbelly show (as Iron Bull would have put it) more often than she would like.

“It's good when you let them see,” Cole was suddenly beside her, seated on Shadow. His hat was already decorated with a puffy accumulation of snow. “It makes them feel like you're them. Sometimes you seem too big. Too different. But they like it when they can see that you feel. Like they do.”

“It's tough when you're the leader,” Astlyr admitted.

“I must be strong and soft. Kind and Killing. I am a contradiction.” Cole said, reading her again.

Astlyr shook her head at the boy's words, but she knew he had pulled them from her own pain, so she felt no need to comment. Instead she looked ahead at the snowy path and took a great, cleansing breath of mountain air.

~~~~

The road to the Exalted Plains was quiet. The snow lying restfully over everything seemed to muffle the world. Even the tread of the horses was almost soundless in the white, undisturbed by anything but the tracks of animals. Myfanwy entertained city-boy Varric by pointing out and identifying all the tracks they saw.

“These are from a pair of foxes. Young, probably born this year. Possibly siblings,” the elvish woman said, pointing out the small paw prints, almost concealed by the low branches of a pine and the dead summer grasses that still stuck out of the snow like skeletal fingers. Her power of observation was startling in the wild. Astlyr was impressed. The inquisitor had thought herself tuned in to the world around her, but Myfanwy made them all look like clueless children. She suspected Fen'Harel could do the same, at least to some extent, but he remained mostly silent, allowing Myfanwy to show off.

Astlyr herself was pleased that they saw no sign of shambling corpses. When she and her companions had first come to the Plains during the war against Corypheus there had been a bit of an undead problem. Now everything was still, even on the old ramparts they passed. The wooden fortifications seemed abandoned. The humans in the area had obviously retreated to more sheltered locals for the winter. Astlyr wondered about the nearby Dalish tribe. Were they wintering here on the Plains? She made no mention of it for the moment, not eager to bring the notion up to the two elves in her company. Neither would be popular with the Dalish, she suspected.

Camping at night was not unpleasant, in spite of the snow and cold. Though the chill could eat away at people's spirits, they kept each other entertained with the usual tales and jokes. Astlyr was pleased that Myfanwy and even Fen'Harel fell into the banter without much trouble.

Astlyr leaned back against her saddle, which sat on the ground near the fire they had built. The horses stood in a nearby stand of trees, sheltering from the gentle night breeze and communing in the quiet way of horses, with touched noses and a huff or two of air passed between them. Varric and Cassandra had gone to get firewood leaving the rest to pitch the camp. It had not taken long. The days of travel together had the group working as a well oiled machine once again. Myfanwy fit in easily, and soon they were roasting the rabbits she had shot during the day as they rode.

Myfanwy was turning the spit slowly now, the skinned and dressed rabbits browning nicely. Every now and again a drop of fat would fall into the fire and let out a hiss or pop. Astlyr took in the familiar camp sounds with a deep sense of belonging. By her estimation the next day they would reach the place where they would apparently locate a foci. This mission was going along more easily than she had hoped. Not even any bear sightings to ruin it. Though, if she was honest, she would not have minded a few good fights, just to keep herself in practice.

Cassandra began sharpening her blade with a whetstone. An unnecessary, but habitual gesture. The keen edge of her sword shone in the light of a full moon reflected on the snow. Astlyr took out her own whetstone and pulled the shield she had brought from where it lay with her sword at her side. She had still not requisitioned a replacement for the shield she had lost that day they had all almost met their grisly end. It never seemed a priority until she was wearing this other one and feeling it pinch against her arm. Still, she began whetting the bottom edge keen. A shield was as good as a blade in a pinch. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a motion and she raised her head to see.

Dorian and Fen'Harel were up and moving just outside of the firelight. They had taken off their armor and were down to their lightest tunics and leggings. Dorian's were, of course, much finer than what Fen'Harel wore. Neither mage held a staff (Fen had finally been allowed one of his own). The men stood side by side and began moving with slow, artful sweeps of arm and leg. Astlyr recognized these as the movements used in spell casting, but much slowed. She was impressed by the grace and muscle control both demonstrated as they almost seemed to dance. Now on one leg, arms extended, then down with a lithe twist of their backs and shoulders.

Astlyr could hear them speaking to one another as they moved. “I find that if I pull my hand downward like this, more centered to my chest, it directs the flow of my mana through my core more efficiently. Less wasteful,” Dorian was saying as he demonstrated the motion. Astlyr had to admire his figure, in spite of herself. There was, after all, no harm in looking. The moonlight reflected beautifully off of his caramel skin as he shifted again to a new, and more difficult position.

Fen'Harel's own hands mimicked Dorian's movement, a look of consideration on his face. Astlyr was surprised. She had never seen the mage take advice from another when he had been in the form of Solas. “I will admit, normally I would disagree, but Daveth seemed to have some muscle memory of this motion,” Fen said, trying it again with the same flawless grace as the first time.

Astlyr watched feeling as though anything she did after seeing this would appear to be the bumblings of an uncoordinated duck. Cole drew nearert to the two mages, watching with great interest. He remained silent, which surprised Astlyr. Perhaps the mages were able to quiet their minds with this exercise.

“Muscle memory, eh?” Dorian asked, sweeping his right foot to the side, then following the motion with his poised hands. Astlyr caught a slight hitch in the man's artful movements. The delicate favoring of his side where she knew he bore a long, ugly scar to match the one on her own thigh.

“Indeed,” Fen'Harel began a new motion. His muscles seemed at once taught and perfectly relaxed. “Each body I inhabit is a bit different. Each mage has a style. Solas had a unique one indeed. Brash, assertive and certain. I enjoyed it, and it fit easily into my own, but Daveth's... he's controlled without being rigid. Common amongst those trained by the Dalish, though he has adopted some of his own ideas. Here, you see,” Fen demonstrated a movement this time. “If you keep your feet planted, then draw the earth power up through your core, your attack is much stronger. Many mages make the mistake of moving their feet too much when attempting earth magics. You must be rooted. Daveth realized this, it seems.”

Astlyr heard a quiet sniffling sound across the fire from her. Myfanwy had stopped turning the spit and was watching the mages. To Astlyr's surprise a tear had found its way down the elvish woman's cheek. Cole responded as though she had shouted, teleporting to Myfanwy's side. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. Cole obeyed, head hung low, but willing. Astlyr wondered if she should do something. Say something. But what? She hoped Cole would tell her.

Instead it was Cassandra who set aside her whetstone and addressed the elf in so quiet a voice that Astlyr could not hear what passed between them. Then both women stood. “We shall return shortly,” was all the warrior said as she led Myfanwy out of the camp.

Astlyr felt mildly inadequate, but also suspected that Cassandra would do a better job comforting the elf than she would have. Varric moved silently over to take Myfanwy's place seeing to their dinner. He gave Astlyr a somber look. She knew the dwarf was fond of the elvish woman. Then again, Varric was fond of almost everyone.

Cole came and sat down beside Astlyr, crossing his legs and weaving strands of dried grass together with nimble fingers. His apparent calm made her feel better. Clearly he approved of Cas's decision to help. The mages finished their exercises and shrugged warm cloaks back onto their shoulders, blowing and stamping their feet as though they had not been perfectly serene moments before. Astlyr felt as though she should do some pushups or something so she didn't seem lazy lounging there by the fire.

“I could sit on your back to make them harder,” Cole said without looking up from his weaving. It took her a moment to realize he had been privy to her thoughts.

She chuckled, “you don't weigh all that much, Cole.”

“I can try to look heavy.” 

She could make out his mouth below the brim of his hat, and he was smiling. Cole joking was a rarity indeed, and she felt honored to be part of it. She thought of bumping his shoulder with hers, but decided it might ruin the moment.

“What are you making?” she asked instead, watching his slender hands move. His fingers were scarred and so pale that the skin under his nails was bluish. His were the hands of one who walked the line between life and death. Hands that should be gripping a blanket to a chest as their owner either survived some terrible illness, or didn't. Instead they wove dry grass with skill and ease.

“I'm making a new nest,” the boy said, twisting a grass stem and breaking off the unneeded end.

“A what?”

“The birds who lived in that tree,” he gestured with a nod of his head and a flap of his hat, “they'll come back in the spring and find their old nest was ruined by the snow. They would have to build a new one before they could have babies, so I am building them one.”

“Of course you are,” she smiled fondly at the spirit boy.

Then Dorian began a song. An old marching tune that Astlyr had taught the group on one of their longer journeys. Everyone joined in, rough voices rousing a nearby deer who fled with the flash of a white tail.

“Over the stone we tramp tramp tramp,  
'till our feet can't go no more.  
We cry to the boss for camp camp camp,  
but she says that there's more work in store.

Over the hills we tramp tramp tramp,  
until our backs are bent and pained.  
We're so soaked with damp damp damp,  
and I'm so sorry that it rained.

Over the Dales we tramp tramp tramp  
until our boots are all worn through,  
and all our teeth do clamp clamp clamp,  
Captain brave, we're trusting you.

Finally we can stop stop stop.  
All of us fall down and sigh.  
But at the dawn we'll hop hop hop,  
up to our feet again to fly.”

By the time the song finished Cassandra has rejoined the group and added her own pleasant, accented voice to the march. Myfanwy looked baffled, but enjoyed it none the less, stamping her foot along with the others at the 'tramp tramp tramp' lines.

The group settled in and dinner was served out as they passed the rest of the evening in good conversation and company.

~~~~~

Everyone was up with the sun the next morning. Horses were saddled and the mood was anticipatory. If they kept a good pace they would reach the location of the foci by noon. Dawn was birthed in a blanket of icy blue. The sun shone, but the air was still frigid and they saw all their breath ghosting out before them. 

Astlyr was glad of having a warm horse to sit on, and wished that she did not have the barrier of the saddle keeping her from more of Smoke's heat. The horse himself sported a shaggy winter coat and seemed not the least bit bothered by the temperature.

 

“It should be up ahead here,” Fen'Harel urged his mount to a trot as they came around a large rock formation and over a small hill. As Astlyr urged speed from Smoke she saw that Fen'Harel had reined up short and she almost rode past him. She scanned the area before them. It appeared that some kind of stone structure had once stood in the clearing beside a partially frozen stream. Whatever it had been it was now shattered to bits. The largest chunks were no bigger than a human head. The ruined object looked to have been larger than a horse and all around the wreckage the snow was disturbed, indicating the destruction was likely recent. Astlyr was about to turn to Myfanwy to ask the skilled tracker what she might deduce when Fen'Harel made a strangled sound. It was somewhere between a cry and a sob.

Fen'Harel dismounted and rushed to the pile of scattered stones. He dropped to his knees amongst them, running his hands over the nearest pieces of rubble. He looked like a man in the ruins of his burned home. Shoulders slumped, head low. Astlyr found herself looking at Cole for answers.

Cole, who had appeared beside her on Shadow's back, seemed at a loss. “He's blocking me out. He doesn't want me to see his sadness. All I feel is the ancient pulling, tossing, binding. Twisted dagger in the soul. Lost. I've lost them all and...empty, bottomless. I'm going to die alone.”

Astlyr slid from the saddle. The rest of her group remained uncertain. Myfanwy too dismounted, and she moved carefully around the perimeter of the wreckage, studying with a practiced eye, though frequently looking up to check on her god with concern evident on her face.

“Fen?” Astlyr approached the elf with caution.

Fen'Harel ignored her, his hands suddenly busy, searching with shaking, clumsy fingers. He turned over stone after shattered stone. Astlyr stepped closer and felt the air crackle with his magic. He hadn't reached for his new staff, but she could tell emotion was sending tendrils of the stuff snaking along the snow and over the rubble. She resisted the urge to retreat. “What happened? Is the foci gone?”

“Fen'Harel. Awake at last I see.” A voice from above them atop the large boulder they had ridden around made everyone's head snap up.

“You,” Astlyr breathed, cold recognition dawning on her face.

“Good to see you again, Inquisitor,” the elf on the boulder said. Though he was silhouetted against the winter sun, Astlyr could make out his too-skinny frame. His black hair shone like fresh polish and he wore the same blade at his hip.

“Celwydd,” Astlyr exhaled, her own sword already in her grip. She heard her friends drawing their weapons, but they awaited orders. Too well trained to attack without her say-so, though she knew many of them wanted to.

Fen'Harel raised his head and she saw a look of astonishment cross his face. Clearly he too recognized the man who had addressed him by name. He said nothing, but stood staring down the newcomer. Astlyr could feel rather than see Celwydd's sunken eyes boring into Fen'Harel's. Her muscles were still tensed, her lips parted to give the order...for what?

Then Celwydd jumped nimbly from the boulder, landing lightly in the snow. His feet were bare, like those of Fen'Harel and Myfanwy, but he wore armor he had not possessed the last time Astlyr had seen him. Light looking metal plates that fitted together with tight precision, keeping his movements unhampered. It was as though he wore no armor at all. Astlyr could move more skillfully in full plate than most, but she had to admire the exquisite craftsmanship of what the elf wore. In any other circumstance she might have inquired who his smith was. Instead she tensed, her shield on her arm; pinching.

She felt rather than saw her party moving in, sliding into a loose formation with Dorian, Varric and Myfanwy behind, in the pocket formed for mages and archers by Astlyr, Cole and Cassandra. It was sloppy, but she knew the formation could tighten quickly with only a word or hand signal from her. Still she hesitated as she watched the two elvish men stare each other down. “What did you do with my artifact?” she asked, her voice bold and loud. No use showing any fear.

Celwydd ripped his gaze from Fen'Harel and smiled at Astlyr. A thin, stretched smile that made his pale lips tighten into a slit. It was anything but friendly. She half expected a forked tongue to shoot out from between those lips. “You noticed that, did you? I needed your little toy. Or rather, my master did.”

“Your master?”

“They're calling him The Scarred One. He's doing great things, even as we speak. I, on the other hand, am seeking what he says must be sought. What I believe you are also after, eh Wolf?”

Fen'Harel stiffened. Astlyr could see his lip curl in anger. “She woke you too?” he said, his words deliberate and taught as a bowstring.

“Indeed. She needed a helper, seeing as you were out of commission. I must say, I was dismayed to find how long I had been in hiding. The passage of time is so...limiting. I was shocked to discover that you had been awake for some time and ever bothered to waken the rest of us.”

“I was protecting you,” Fen'Harel said, still tense as a coiled spring. “I would have found you. In time,” 

“No. I really don't think you would have. But now you must think you're going to find yourself some allies? You smell which way the wind has turned, don't you, old friend?”

“You're a fool if you can't smell it as well,” Fen said, teeth still bared.

“Interesting company you're keeping these days. A dragon's daughter, a child of the stone, and humans. At least I spy one of The People. Unusual mark she wears. Is it yours? She's quite attractive, would you consider selling her?”

“Do not speak to her!” snarled Fen'Harel.

Celwydd tilted his head, a mockery of a sympathetic look on his face, “Oh, Dread Wolf. Consorting with so many low types. What would She think if she could see you now?”

“She knows how this world works,” Fen'Harel said, “She was part of it too, or did you forget that She also failed to free you until now?”

Celwydd stepped closer to Fen'Harel and Astlyr heard Myfanwy's bowstring groan as she drew back an arrow. She did not fire, but Astlyr wondered how long the archer could hold. Celwydd grinned in his abstract, twisted way. “Fine body you found for yourself, Wolf.” He spat the word as though he had called Fen'Harel 'filth'. “For mine they had to do some...convincing. He got a little hungry, you see, and then he was much easier to persuade.”

It was obvious that Fen'Harel was trying to contain himself. His shoulders squared and Astlyr could see his hands balled into fists. Still, Fen'Harel pressed on, ignoring the obvious slight and harsh words. “I don't care what they had to do to the poor elf whose body you stole. You need to think of The People. About what all of this will mean for them. For this world.”

“It's a new world, Fen'Harel,” Celwydd said, spreading his arms as if to gesture to the world he spoke of. “You said it yourself. You're the one who still clings to the past. It's time for the future of us all. No more being locked away. No more hiding.”

“Give me the foci, murderer!” Fen's voice was a deep snarl. The sound reverberated, rich and canine, from his chest.

Celwydd grinned. An ugly, cruel grimace on his wan, thin-boned face. “Oh, Dread Wolf. What a fool you still are.” Then he drew his sword with such speed that Astlyr heard it more than she saw it. In the same motion he slashed the slender blade across Fen'Harel's chest. Fen gave a cry and fell to a knee, clutching the fresh wound.

“Loose!” Astlyr shouted. The formation tightened around her and arrows shot past either side of her head, so close one ruffled a few free strands of her hair. Celwydd moved gracefully. Myfanwy's arrow missed his throat by a fraction and Varric's bolt pinged harmlessly off of his armor.

“Cole!” Astlyr snapped, as one might order the release of war hounds. The boy vanished from her side and in less than a second appeared behind Celwydd, slashing with his twin daggers. This was a successful distraction if nothing else. “Cas, let's go,” Astlyr ordered, surging forward with her companion, even as Dorian's magic hissed past her. Ice, then lightning, then purple death magic. The mage was holding nothing back.

Astlyr locked her shield with Cas's and the two women charged. An action that would have bowled over three men, let alone one elf. Myfanwy stayed back with Dorian. She kept a steady onslaught of arrows covering them while Varric stayed in the pocket behind the two warriors, doing his best to keep up.

As Astlyr expected, Celwydd saw the charge aimed for him and managed to dodge clear, even as he struggled to block Cole's rapid attacks. The spirit boy was in rare form, blinking all around his foe. He was never visible for longer than it took to strike a blow with his daggers. Astlyr could feel the cold wind of his teleportation even as Celwydd danced away from her shield wall. The wall had not been intended to strike the foe. It was meant to move up and envelope Fen'Harel. If they had managed to slam into their elvish enemy it would have been a happy bonus. Instead the women turned, their shields facing Celwydd, their backs to the wounded Fen'Harel, who found himself in Varric's capable hands.

“I am alright,” Astlyr heard Fen'Harel say, and she risked a glance back over her shoulder to see healing magic coiling around its caster, mending his wound. She was uncertain how serious the injury had been, but there was a good deal of blood in the snow where the elf god huddled. “You must get the foci from him!” Fen gasped.

Astlyr's head shot up and she tracked her enemy with a practiced eye. Even with Cole attacking him, plus arrows and Magic flying his way, he was managing to move further from them. Escape was his obvious goal. Celwydd's armor was clearly something beyond even the best platemail that Astlyr owned. Arrows deflected harmlessly, and so did magic. Dorian's spells pinged off of the armor. One blast nearly stuck Cole, who had to dance nimbly out of the way, allowing Celwydd a free moment to begin sprinting.

“Cas,” Astlyr said, her voice calm.

“Of course,” Cassandra said, a thin smile playing on her lips. She reached for her belt and unbuckled the chain which hung there. Three deft arm motions sent the chain flicking out like the quick tongue of a frog. The chain was spiked at one end, intended to wrap around a limb and dig in. Though Celwydd's armor protected him from the worst the chain had to offer it still coiled about his right leg. Cas tensed, then gave a practiced jerk, using her whole upper body. Celwydd slammed to the snowy earth with a surprised cry.

Astlyr took hold of the taught chain and helped Cassandra haul the elf in like a landed fish. Dorian, who had stopped casting for fear of further endangering his own party, laughed aloud as Celwydd struggled, flailing around to reach for his leg and getting a handful of little punctures from the spikes, even through the leather gloves he wore.

“Be cautious,” Fen'Harel warned. He was standing now, though leaning on Varric's strong shoulder. “He is never without a plan or trick.”

“That's supposed to be you, Dread Wolf,” Celwydd hissed as he grappled against the chain. “Do The People still spit when they say your name? Do they still hide from your steps and curse you? Oh yes, She told me all about what The People think of you these days,” he grunted, twisting and writhing in ways Astlyr would never have been able to manage in so much armor.

Cole, who was following along as the enemy was dragged, daggers at the ready, gave Astlyr a meaningful glance. He was getting something from Celwydd, but did not speak it aloud. Astlyr was impressed. Lately Cole was growing better and better at not blurting out whatever pain he heard. She would have to congratulate him on his restraint later. “Cole, get his sword,” Astllyr called, before she and Cas drew the struggling Celwydd too close.

Cole stepped down hard on the flat of the blade. There was a flash of green light and Cole fell back with a cry, falling clumsily to earth. He scooted away from Celwydd, clutching his leg.

Celwydd ceased struggling for a moment, even as Cas and Astlyr stopping pulling him nearer. They kept the chain taught as the elf studied Cole with his dark rimmed, sunken eyes, “I should have known. You've always had a fondness for creatures of the Fade, eh Wolf? And the boy moved so quickly. No ordinary human then. Getting greedy, are we Fen'Harel? One spirit not good enough for you?”

“Shut. Up.” Fen'Harel spat so bitterly his words might have been an ice spell themselves.

“Cole, are you alright?” Astlyr asked, not taking her eyes from their foe.

“Yes,” the boy answered. “His sword is special. It bit me, but I'm alright.”

“Surrender the foci,” Fen'Harel demanded, stepping past Astlyr, hands and staff poised for casting. The frozen earth around Celwydd began to churn.

To their surprise Celwydd smiled again. His hand darted to reach for something at his waist. Fen'Harel stretched out a hand as if he could stay the motion. Instead a pile of dirt tufted uselessly into the air to Celwydd's right. Then Celwydd threw something onto the ground and the whole area exploded with a grey, thick smog. The stuff spread quickly and invaded Astlyr's lungs with only a few shallow breaths. Once inside her chest it clung there like gripping fingers, squeezing. She was gasping in seconds and she could hear the others doing the same. She tried to keep calm. To peer through the dimness created by the smog to see the elf. Then Cassandra's chain went slack. She wanted to curse, but she did not have enough air for breathing, let alone profanity.

Then she felt a cool rush she knew to be a magical barrier. She guessed Dorian must have thrown one over them like a blanket. She struggled to catch her breath, listening to the sound of her people choking around her. Her brain was getting oxygen deprived and her thoughts were fuzzy.

“Goodbye, Dread Wolf. I wish you nothing but the best as you watch helplessly while we change the world!” Celwydd apparently could not resist a good moment of gloating. He perched on the boulder again, above the smog cloud he had created. Astlyr blinked through the oily smoke to see him. Then an arrow flew and to her surprise the deadly shaft found a gap in the elf's armor. It was a shot worthy of Sera, though Astlyr knew it could not have been her. She recognized Myfanwy's fletching as the arrow buried itself in the armor-gap under Celwydd's arm. He had raised his hand to wave a scornful goodbye, or perhaps to make a rude gesture. Celwydd gasped, grabbing at the arrow, turning to flee in the same motion. And then Astlyr felt herself being pulled. Urged by someone's hands on her armor away from the elf and the boulder.

Astlyr knew Cas was coming with her, backing clumsily out of the poison cloud, because their shields were still interlocked, clanking together loudly, but reassuringly.

Once they were clear of the bank of smog Astlyr tried to blink it out of her eyes. It was as though the stuff clung to every membrane. It coated her throat and nasal passages. Everything smelled like days old death. To her relief she saw that Cassandra had grabbed a hold of Fen'Harel's tunic and half led, half dragged the elf from the cloud.

As soon as Astlyr tried to get a full breath of clear air she regretted it. It was as though the air made the smong in her lungs angry. Hot pain seared through her chest and up her throat. She pushed herself away from Cassandra and fell over, finding herself too dizzy to stand. The hands that had led her from the smog tried clumsily to support her, and failed. If someone her size was going to fall over, they were going to fall over, no matter what. Her body decided it was ready to be rid of the foul smoke. She coughed and retched, black slime splattering the snow before her.

All around Astlyr her team was in the same state. Some had collapsed as she had, while others managed to keep their feet, but bent double, hacking up brackish bile. Astlyr struggled to form words between fits of coughing, trying to take account of her team through watering eyes. “What –cough cough-- was that?” she managed, her throat was fit to close up.

“It's called Breath-bane,” Myfanwy was able to answer. She had been the farthest from the center of the smoke, and thus was more able than the others to breathe. “The Dalish use it, though I have never seen it myself,” she gasped in a breath, slender hand to her chest. “It is often considered too cruel to use, even on our enemies.”

“It is—aptly named,” coughed Varric, who clearly could have been dying and still made a quip.

“How do we make it stop?” choked Cassandra between dry-heaves.

Astlyr fumbled with her belt for the water skin at her hip. She was suddenly, desperately thirsty. “No!” Myfanwy shouted, staggering over to Astlyr. “Water will make it worse. It reacts with the Breath-bane to become even more deadly!”

Astlyr dropped the water skin, her fingers were too clumsy to re-cap it. “What—cough-- can we do?”

Myfanwy tried to straighten, her hand a claw against her breastbone. She searched around with streaming eyes. “There's an herb. A simple antidote if I can find it. Creators, where would I find it in the winter?!”

Astlyr's muddy mind grasped onto a thought. Her eyes had strayed to the small stream running cold and partially frozen beside them. She knew that stream and where it led, not far from here. “Would the Dalish have some of the herb?” she choked.

Myfanwy managed to nod before hunching over, coughing again. Astlyr fought down the fire in her lungs to look over her team. Cole was beside her. She suspected he had been the one to lead her and Cassandra out of the cloud. He too was on his hands and knees, having been unable to hold her upright he had collapsed with her. She could hear him fighting doggedly for each breath. Dorian had fared second best after Myfanwy. He leaned against a rock, struggling for air, but looking determined. Varric was kneeling in the snow with Cassandra. Both seemed to be in Astlyr's state. Able to speak, but barely. Fen'Harel was clearly in the worst shape. He was curled into a ball on the ground, racking coughing shuddering his slender frame. She could see that he had only partially healed the wound on his chest.

“I can teleport to the Dalish camp,” Cole said in a hoarse voice before coughing up another mouthful of black bile. He moved to stand, almost achieving his feet before falling sideways and collapsing back to earth.

“No, Stay here, Cole. Watch over everyone,” Astlyr said, fighting back the fire in her chest with sheer force of will. Her ribs felt as though they might burst as her lungs struggled valiantly with the Breath-bane. “Myfanwy and I will—will go,” she massaged her side as a sharp pain erupted there. A stitch from all the coughing.

She put her fingers to her lips and gave the weakest whistled she thought she had ever made. Luckily Smoke and the other horses were nearby. The warhorse was used to battles and knew to stay clear unless called upon, and not to let the other horses spook. The big grey horse turned at the sound of Astlyr's anemic whistle and trotted over to her.

She grasped his reins and tugged. Smoke took his cue, doing as he had been trained. Carefully he folded his thick legs to lay down at Astlyr's side. She scrambled into the saddle, slouching over his neck. Myfanwy, still able to stand, managed to climb onto her own horse, with a little help from Dorian. Before Astlyr could urge Smoke to stand again she felt Cole's hand on her leg. She looked down into his wan face. There was bile and a little blood smeared on his lips and her heart panged. There was nothing in the world she hated more than seeing her people in danger.

Cole managed to speak before another wave of coughing, “Astlyr, you're Qunari. You're strong. Push through it. Push past it.” He fell back, giving Smoke space to stand.

Astlyr bit down on her lip as her chest spasmed, but she felt somehow bolstered. Cole had known exactly what to say, but of course he would. She felt her energy surge. Of course she was stronger. She could withstand what others could not. She gritted her teeth, addressing her friends in the loudest voice she could muster, which surprised even her with its resonance. “I will return as quickly as I can with the antidote. Take care of one another and hold on.”

“Yes ma'am,” choked Cassandra, her steely eyes meeting Astyr's.

Astlyr clicked her tongue and Smoke jerked to his hooves. She struggled to sit straight in the saddle, to cut an encouraging figure. Fire still roiled up her chest into her throat. As she and Myfanwy urged speed from their mounts each motion of the horse sent a shard of pain through her chest. She turned to the elf beside her managing to choke out words. “Will this kill us, if untreated?”

It took Myfanwy a long time to answer. Her face was ashy and she too was barely able to stand the jarring of the horse's canter, though Gossamer’s gait was smoother than most. “Some of us, it very well may.” she managed before hunching forward over the saddle, her hands loose and useless on the reins. Luckily Gossamer was following Smoke and needed little guidance from her rider.

Astlyr squinted up the narrow stream. In other circumstances it would have beautiful. Unbroken snow glittering in the sun, the water flowing just fast enough so as to not freeze over completely. The ice that formed on the edges was like perfect crystal with the clear water rushing beneath making it shimmer. All this was lost on the riders as Astlyr pointed, “the camp should be just up there!”

The two women urged their horses across the stream to a small valley beside a great boulder which Astlyr knew hid a cave where the halla were kept. She expected to see the high, red sails of the aravels standing out against the winter skyline. There was nothing. Astlyr's heart turned to stone in her already aching chest. She asked Smoke for more speed none the less. She knew the Dalish were nomadic, but had thought they would not leave in the winter, surely.

The place where the camp had stood was deserted. A fresh snow had covered any tracks of the elves' retreat. “No,” Astlyr breathed, her lungs hitching with each gulp of cold air. “No no no. Myfanwy?”

The elvish woman looked at Astlyr, her face grey. Her lips were going blue. Astlyr felt icy panic join the fire in her throat. “I'm...sorry,” Myfanwy choked before passing out. She slumped over Gossamer's neck, and the mare shifted to compensate, not wanted her rider to fall.

Astlyr swung clumsily down from Smoke's broad back and leaned against the horse. There was nothing. No sign of anything left behind, not a single track or twig. She cursed, reaching for the saddle horn. She had to ride back to her people. What else could she do? She tried to put her foot in the stirrup and missed. The world has started to swim before her eyes and she tried to take a full breath. This failed she settled for several short ones as she slumped again against Smoke's side. She just needed a moment, just a moment to gather her breath and...and what? What could she do? She was qunari. She was strong. But what good was any of that now?

A shadow moved in the cave beneath the massive boulder. Astlyr tensed, her hand reaching for her sword with instinct and muscle memory. She drew the blade, knowing that she would not have enough strength or dexterity to grapple her shield from her back. She wished she had strapped it to Smoke's saddle, but she knew that would have been almost as impossible as she was finding it to stand without support from the horse. She was still getting air, but only in small doses. Her head was starting to hurt but she ground her teeth together fiercely, sword aimed in the vague direction of the movement. Cole's words swirled in her mind as she struggled to look intimidating to whatever might have been holed up in the old halla enclosure. I am qunari. I am strong. Push through it. Push past it. The shadowy figure moved out into the bright winter sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loads to talk about this time! And dat cliffhanger! Nails bitten clean off over here! But for reals, next time I promise a few answers. Just a few...if you're good.
> 
> Now before you all start shouting that the Breath-bane shouldn't bother Cole, I have in-game proof that smoke/poison gas does affect him. In the game if you travel to the western approach when you go into the poison gas area one of your party members (or the inquisitor) will cough. Cole will have a coughing fit (which btw is the most heart wrenching thing ever) just like the others if you go into the smoke. Case closed *slams gavel* Ahem...anyway.
> 
> I got the idea for the mage tai chi from a random piece of art on DA where the arist speculated that mages must practice those movements they do while casting. Thus awesome Dorian and Fen'Harel tai chi was born. You're welcome.
> 
> In other, other news: one of my favorite authors growing up was Brian Jacques and you can often still see his influence in my style. One of the things he liked to do was make up songs for his books. He was, of course, much better than me, but I like to include a song or two if I can had homage to him. I hope it was not too terrible!
> 
> Alright, that's enough chatter from me. I'll see you all next week. Don't forget to comment (Cole would want you to!) Is anyone playing the new DLC (Jaws of Hakkon)? If so, what do you think? Discuss!


	19. Poison Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long work day, but a new chapter makes up for it all!
> 
> Last time we saw Astlyr she was trying not to die of suffocation and to find help for her friends. And then she found a shadow something in a cave. Will her luck hold? ;)
> 
> Warning, I do some more lore tweaking/explaining. Brace yourselves!

**Part 19**

**Poison Lies**

 

At first Astlyr thought she must be hallucinating, but a few hard blinks were enough to reassure her that the creature striding towards her from the cave was not a threat. Rather it was a halla. What's more, it was a halla she knew. She might have said something to that effect had her voice not been stolen by another fit of coughing. She needed all her air to remain standing. Her brows came together as the deer-like creature approached, black nose outstretched to sniff her curiously. The animal's fur was an elegant golden color, like the coat of a palomino horse, but richer still, gleaming like precious metal. The halla seemed to be studying Astlyr, large cupped ears spread forward below long, curving horns like twisted tree branches.

 

Once, Astlyr and her people have been attempting to gain favor with the Dalish tribe that had camped on the Plains. The master of the halla had made a special request. At the time Astlyr wondered if the man had heard of her druffalo retrieving skills somehow. He had asked that a rare, gold colored halla be brought to the camp. The task had not been difficult, though the animal was flighty, Astlyr and her company managed to herd it into the camp, where it made itself at home as though it had always belonged.

 

The halla sniffed Astlyr one more time, blowing steam from its nose in a snort. Then it turned and galloped away, tail flashing like a warning. Astlyr stood, still leaning against Smoke for a long moment. Well, that had been an interesting but wholly unhelpful encounter. Her mind thrashed about for a moment, like someone drowning trying to grasp at anything floating nearby. Passing out was feeling like a better and better idea, but she knew she had to get back to her people. Help them somehow. She turned to Smoke, her fingers fumbling with his saddle, trying to pull out the red flag so she could send him back to Skyhold. With luck someone would find them...but it was several days ride to the fortress. It would take Smoke time to get back, even if he ran hard, and longer still for Cullen and his men to reach her.

 

She fought through a wave of dizziness and took hold of the stirrup again, turning it and aiming carefully with her toes. She managed to plant her foot in the stirrup and reached for the saddle horn. These simple motions left her gasping and coughing. Smoke reached around with his muzzle, obviously trying to comfort her. His lip brushed her back, urging her to keep trying. Then his head snapped forward, ears pricked. Astlyr turned slowly, following his gaze. The golden halla was back. The majestic beast charged into the camp clearing, huffing great gouts of steamy air, making Astlyr jealous with its ability to breath. “Hello,” Astlyr managed, her voice so hoarse she hardly recognized it.

 

The halla stepped forward and extended its muzzle again, but this time, rather than sniffing, it was holding something out to Astlyr. The qunari squinted, baffled. A branch? Part of a shrub perhaps. Dried leaves still clung in clumps from the scruffy twigs. It must have been the oxygen deprivation. Was this animal offering her a plant? Could it be possible that the halla were intelligent enough to fetch the very plant she needed? The mabari war hounds were said to be as smart as humans. Could it be that halla were the same?

 

“My...Myfan...” damn. Why did the elf's name have three fucking syllables, Astlyr wondered darkly as she took her foot from the stirrup and shuffled past the halla, who turned and followed her, still offering the shrub clamped in its teeth.

 

Astlyr reached Myfanwy and shook the elf's leg. To her intense relief Myfanwy's eyes opened, if fractionally. “Is this the plant?” Astlyr said with the biggest breath she could manage. He snatched the branch from the halla's mouth and held it under Myfanwy's nose.

 

The elvish woman blinked a few times, then coughed weakly, gasping in a few hard-fought breaths before her eyes opened wider. “Yes,” she squeaked like one who had been suffering a long illness. “Where did you-? Never mind. Chew the leaves. Swallow the juice. Spit out the leaves.” These directions seemed to have exhausted Myfanwy's powers of speech, but it was all Astlyr needed. She stripped a thin branch of its leaves and jammed them into her mouth, chewing frantically. The leaves were dried and brittle, but there was a surprising amount of juice still in them and it was enough.

 

Astlyr doubled over one last time. This time her wracking coughs brought up all of the blasted bile onto the snow, along with blood from her raw throat. She spat and stood, taking in the largest breath she could manage. She would have never guessed that the mere act of breathing would be such a welcome blessing. Her mind cleared quickly, though her head still ached. She hurried to strip more leaves from the twiggy shrub and held her hand up to Myfanwy's mouth without ceremony. She felt the elf's lips move against her palm as Myfanwy took the leaves and chewed. Then she leaned over the side of her horse and noisily rid herself of the hateful stuff that had been sitting in her lungs.

 

Astlyr turned to the watching halla and raised an eyebrow. She had many questions and precious few answers would come from an animal. She sighed, taking a moment to relish the fact that she could sigh, then he hurried back to Smoke, who nosed her happily when he saw that she was better. She rubbed his face fondly with the heel of her hand. “Thank you, boy,” she said. She easily mounted and turned to look at Myfanwy who was staring at the golden halla. “Pretty isn't she?” Astlyr said, guiding Smoke over beside her elvish friend. “Come on, we had better get back to the others and fast,” she tucked the branch the halla had given her into her saddlebag and squeezed Smoke's side firmly.

 

As the two women rode hard back up the stream, carelessly splashing through the icy water in their hurry, Astlyr glanced back to see that the halla was still with them. It kept pace, large eyes intent, like two dark moons on its golden face. “Are halla intelligent?” Astlyr called to Myfanwy, who was clinging to her saddle horn in an effort not to fall from her galloping mount.

 

“Yes,” Myfanwy said, fumbling with the reins as Gossamer drew up beside Smoke. The larger horse's legs were longer and he ate up the turf with a great strides so poor Gossamer had to try quite hard to stay beside him. “A halla has no need of saddle or bridle. They can sometimes even sense their rider's thoughts and intentions, if they are a close pair.”

 

“Yes, but, do they understand language or situations? Would a halla know to bring me the right herb if it could smell the Breath-bane on me?”

 

“What?” Myfanwy's brows came together in the way that made her tattoos appear to be closing jaws abound her face.

 

Astlyr took this as a 'no' and she shot another glance over her shoulder at the creature running behind them. It had certainly behaved like an ordinary beast when she and her friends had herded it to the Dalish months before.

 

Finally she could make out the boulder where Celwydd had stood, and her nose prickled as she smelled the lingering, oily odor of the Breath-bane still dissipating on the wind.

 

When Astlyr found her people an odd sight met her eyes. Cassandra, Dorian and Cole were sitting cross legged in a circle on the ground, their knees touching. Varric was leaning against Cassandra's back, obviously unconscious. Fen'Harel was laying in the snow nearby, also seemingly out cold. Cole's head shot up, his eyes locking on Astlyr the moment she came into view. The boy tried to rise, failed and toppled into Dorian, who clumsily caught him.

 

Astlyr dismounted so quickly that Smoke had not even come to a full stop. She used her arm around his thick neck to steady herself as she swung down, sending up a spray of snow. She jerked the shrub branch from her saddle pack and ran to her companions, stripping leaves in one motion as she slid to her knees to stop beside the odd formation her friends sat in. “Chew these, swallow the juice and spit out the leaves,” she recited as she distributed a handful each of the dried leaves.

 

Soon Cas, Cole and Dorian were hacking up the last of the Breath-bane from their chests. This woke Varric enough for Astlyr to give him his instructions and gently pour the leaves past his lips with her hands. The dwarf joined the others in the disgusting business of ridding himself of the vile poison.

 

“That was bad,” Cole rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, speaking for them all. “I don't want to do it again.”

 

Myfanwy knelt beside Fen'Harel, trying to shake him gently awake. She looked up with desperation. “He can't take the herb if he won't wake up.”

 

Cole stepped in, “you'll have to give it to him.” He stripped some leaves from the branch Astlyr still held and passed them to Myfanwy. “Chew for him.”

 

The elf understood. She jammed the leaves into her own mouth, chewed for a few moment, then bent over the form of Fen'Harel, opening his mouth with gentle pressure from her hand she spat the leafy goo from her mouth into his. Then she held his head up, using her fingers on his throat to encourage him to swallow. A long, tense moment passed. Myfanwy sat back on her heels and looking frightened.

 

Finally Fen'Harel stiffened, then coughed. “Turn him!” Astlyr exclaimed, moving quickly she reached the elf and rolled him onto his side so he could cough out the Breath-bane.

 

“There we go. Easy now,” Astlyr held his hair out of the way with one hand, keeping him on his side with the other. She knew she would have to have strong words with the elf god, but for the moment she was kind. She could afford him a moment. When he had finished retching Astlyr moved aside and Myfanwy took her lord's head in her lap, speaking softly and reassuringly.

 

“Maker,” Groaned Cassandra, rubbing her throat. Her tough, warrior's voice was reduced to a painful whisper.

 

Cole moved about, soothing their aching ribs, heads and throats with his gift. He reached Astlyr and gave her a thin smile. “The others were worried, but I told them you would come back.”

 

“Of course I came back,” she gripped his boney shoulder. Then she looked up at her friends, who were all moving slowly as though they had aged substantially. “What was that you were doing when we rode up?”

 

“Passing out was better. You didn't care about breathing. You just breathed as best you could, and you didn't care.” Cole said, looking at his hands. “But Cassandra knew I couldn't pass out so...she taught me.”

 

“I taught them a breathing mediation the Seekers use,” Cassandra explained.

 

“It helped,” said Cole, obscuring his face again with his hat.

 

“Thank you, Cas,” Astlyr nodded to her friend. The scarred woman dipped her chin slightly in answer, her face still stoney and unreadable as ever.

 

“I take it you found the Dalish?” asked Varric, sitting down on a rock and massaging his ribs with a grimace.

 

“No, actually,” Astlyr explained what had happened. When she reached the part about the halla she gestured to the elegant creature, who stood back from the group, ears cupped forward as it seemed to listen. “She took one sniff of me, then ran off and got the herbs I needed.” Astlyr looked to the halla, who blinked lazily at her. “Er, thank you,” she said. “I don't know if you can understand me, or maybe you were just exceptionally well trained, but than you.”

 

“Some of the clans believe that this golden halla is special,” said Myfanwy, looking up from comforting Fen. “My parents did not think much of that idea, though my clan never had a golden halla of our own.”

 

Cole moved carefully closer to the beast, tilting his head one way, then the other, his hands clasped before him. “Not a halla. No no. Much more, deeper like an ocean you can't see. Trapped under the ice she looks out. Let me out. Let me feel. Find me under the water.”

 

“Isn't that the animal we brought to the Dalish?” Varric asked. He had been with Astlyr that day, and had thought her a bit silly for taking on yet another quest to find someone's missing pet. As a city dweller himself he had no love for tramping all over the landscape to step in piles of halla scat in an attempt to coax the unwilling animal back to where it belonged. Now he too drew nearer, holding out a hand to the creature. “If it's not a halla what is it?”

 

“She is a goddess,” Fen'Harel's voice was so strained Astlyr barely heard it. She turned, looking down at the elf who was still laying against Myfanwy's legs.

 

“What?” Astlyr asked, scowling. Her anger was rising and she fought it back. She couldn't abuse a wounded elf, even if he did claim to be a god. Instead she took a knee beside him, meeting his eyes with a steely glare. “Alright, Fen. Time to start talking. Who is this halla? Who was that Celwydd to you. He definitely seemed to know you, and to have a bone to pick with you. Talk.”

 

The others moved closer. Astlyr felt their anger push in like closing ranks. She knew these people as she had known her own family. How quickly they would knit together against a perceived threat. The war had knocked that into them. The huddling instinct of a pack of wolves. Even Cole, who could no doubt read the fear becoming evident on Fen'Harel's face, stood with his friends. Astlyr glanced at the spirit. “You got a read on Celwydd before. I could tell. What did you get?”

 

“Hot anger, pushing, pounding, penetrating. Lied to. He thought he was safe. Making himself safe, but the wolf lied. Celwydd hated the lie. Hates the ones who told him he would be safe. Hates the humans who made him flee. He scorches inside and there's no water to cool him except pain.”

 

Astlyr gave Cole a quick nod of thanks and turned back to Fen'Harel. He had struggled to a sitting position, distancing himself from Myfanwy slightly. As he moved the halla drew closer, stretching out its long neck, sniffing the air. “I think...I think I must tell you the truth,” Fen said, his voice tight, a grimace on his lips. One that Solas might have worn, but it looked a bit unnatural on Daveth's face, which was obviously more accustomed to being jovial.

 

“The truth,” Astlyr scoffed, rocking back on her heels. “You lie when it suits you and tell the truth when it suits you. Nothing you do is ever for my benefit is it? Do you think you're some sort of puppet master that can take myself and my people and use us however you please? You know what I do with liars.”

 

“You forgive them,” said Cole.

 

“Cole,” Astlyr scolded gently, “I'm trying to be a hard-ass here.”

 

“Sorry,” the boy put his head down so his hat obscured his face.

 

Fen's shoulders shook slightly. She wasn't certain if it was sadness, pain or fear. He had not fully healed the wound Celwydd had left him, etched cruelly across his torso, from shoulder to the base of his ribs. It was no longer bleeding, but still looked ugly, and his tattered robe added to the effect.

 

Cole spoke again, low and fast, obviously reading Fen'Harel, “I'm sorry. I am so so sorry. Walking a spiral path again and again, and always alone. A snake swallowing its tail. An endless longing, wandering cold. Dying alone in the dark, like a lonesome child. So much is expected, so little is offered. So little I _can_ offer except the lies my tongue tells and I want...I need to not be alone.”

 

“So you've been alone for a long time?” Astlyr folded her arms, “The way to keep friends is not to lie to them at every turn.”

 

Fen'Harel spoke again, his voice marginally stronger, even as he curled around himself as though he wanted to disappear. His face was tucked into the cage of his long fingers as he spoke, “I still have holes in my memory. Gaps that haven't returned.”

 

“Convenient,” scoffed Varric.

 

“There are holes. Halves missing,” Cole spoke again, pale eyes fixed on the elf. “Truths I can't tell myself. Missing, mostly. Marred in mires of malice. Torn from me by Her. Ripping pieces away like a dog shreds a corpse.”

 

“Alright,” Astlyr held her hand out to Cole, stopping him. “So you may have a few memory gaps, but you obviously knew Celwydd, and you just said that the halla over there is not a halla, but a goddess. Explain. Now.”

 

Fen'Harel shuddered again, his hands and face so pale that Astlyr felt her anger ebb. Perhaps she was softening from hanging around with Cole so much. Though the spirit boy could be ruthless when someone threatened him or his friends. ' _You like people_.' Astlyr groaned in annoyance at herself, then took her cloak from her shoulders and draped it over the huddled elf. Fen froze for a moment, as though expecting her to attack him. When the soft wool settled over him he gripped it in slim fingers as thought it was a lifeline she had thrown him. “I'll begin with the one you called Celwydd,” he offered, meekly. Never had Astlyr seen him look so defeated. She pictured the scrawny wolf she had first met in the Fade. How timidly it had touched her hands with its nose.

 

“Alright. Varric, would you see to a fire?” she asked. “I think we're camping here today.”

 

The dwarf nodded, moving off, though not far, to gather twigs. Each party member carried a few logs on their packs which they gathered as they journeyed during the day in case they could not readily find wood where they camped in the evening. Varric kept his body turned slightly as he worked so he could hear. Cole moved to help him, also keeping as quiet as possible.

 

“The man you know as Celwydd is a god. Like myself. He is June, commonly known in these times as the god of the craft.”

 

Myfanwy made a startled sound, her eyes going wide.

 

“There are more of you?” Cassandra's eyebrows shot upward.

 

“He seemed awfully grouchy for someone associated with crafting stuff,” Varric pointed out.

 

Astlyr hushed her people with a look, then turned back to Fen'Harel who went on. “I imagine you would be irked as well if you went through what he did. Because of me,” he shuddered again, even wrapped as he was in Astlyr's cloak. Asltyr was pleased that no one commented, waiting for the elf to continue. “I suppose I must cast my memory all back to a time when all of us walked the earth. Gods among The People.”

 

“So you did walk with us?” Myfanwy asked. She had come to sit beside Astlyr, facing her deity with an open expression that mocked Fen'Harel's closed one.

 

“Yes. Though we moved freely to the Fade and back and beyond. We moved as we pleased, as did The People. With the aid of Eluvians the elvhen spread far and ruled much. They built great structures, temples and palaces. They warred, of course, and we warred with them. Because we stood apart, stood above them, sometimes my fellows would mistake their elvhen people for pawns. They waged petty wars as one plays at chess.”

 

“Did you?' Astlyr questioned, settling more comfortably in the snow. She was a little chilly without her cloak, but her qunari nature helped. The cold merely tested, it did not bite.

 

Fen'Harel shook his head, smiling thinly. “I never had so many followers. Certainly I had some, and they were far more loyal than one might expect. I could never ask them to fight in my pointless squabbles. As a result I became known by some as a coward or weakling. A 'lesser' god. A few others were the same. If they refused to sacrifice the lives under their rule they became known as lesser. It was very bad near the end. I faded further and further back from them. My old friends. I began to spend more time in the Fade, where time has little meaning and battle is rare. Spirits were easier to understand and to befriend. But then I took my watchful eye from The People, and when I looked back again something terrible was rising on our land,” he peered up through his long, dark eyelashes, as though afraid to meet anyone's eyes. “Humans. Humans had come and found a once elegant people fractured and fighting. It was easy, oh so easy, for the humans to take advantage.”

 

“That's what humans do isn't it?” Dorian mused. His tone was flat, and he looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set over the rolling hills and large rock formations of the plains.

 

“So the humans came and found the elvhen people easy prey?” Astlyr promoted.

 

“Yes, in a fashion. Humans also brought new ideas, a new culture, which fascinated many of The People who lived in a world of ancient memories and a history clung to without question. They craved something new more than anything they had ever had. The humans also brought new illness to our land, and the elvhen numbers were substantially reduced in this fashion. They began to quicken. To die long before their time. To live but the fleeting lives of men,” Fen'Harel's tone had become bitter, as though the words tasted as foul as Breath-bane on his tongue. “We gods knew we were in trouble. Our armies were nothing now, and many elvhen had stopped seeing us as they once had. Their respect was fading with their endless youth. They tasted age, and they tasted doubt and they were turning against us too. Many of my fellows came to me. I had remained unspoiled by the humans in my usual, cunning way. For once I was the strongest of them. They begged me to hide them.”

 

“You didn't trick them, as the stories say?” Myfanwy asked, her eyes bright with interest.

 

“Oh, some I did,” a quick, clever smile flitted across his tight lips. “Some did not come to me, but I knew I had to get them out, to tuck them away until a safer time for us to reawaken.”

 

“Was this June one you tricked then?” Cassandra asked.

 

The fire was blazing now and the friends began to move to gather about it. Fen'Harel did not move. Astlyr held out her hands, “come on.”

 

Fen hesitated then set his slender hands into her much larger ones. He felt like nothing more than a bent reed as she helped him up. A light, almost insubstantial creature. A stiff breeze might have blown him over. He grunted in pain as he moved. Astlyr clucked her tongue as she looked him over. “Why not finish healing yourself?”

 

“He doesn't think he deserves it,” Cole filled in for her.

 

Astlyr made a disgruntled noise before Cassandra could beat her to it as she helped the injured elf to the fireside and deposited him on a rock. She adjusted her cloak around him without thinking. “Look, Fen, I've had about enough,” she said, her tone hard. Soldierly. “This self pity thing is starting to grate. Yes you've had a rough time, and yes you've made some mistakes, and yes, I am a little pissed at you, but there is no need for such dramatics.”

 

The halla, who had drawn nearer to the group, still watching with night-dark eyes, snorted as if in agreement with Astlyr's words. Several members of the party chuckled. Fen'Harel still seemed to close in on himself. Astlyr crouched in from of him, her back straight and military, her eyes flinty as Cassandra's were when she addressed her men. “You're a god for Fade's sake! Act like one. So you're been alone a lot these past years-”

 

“Ages,” Fen'Harel mumbled. “It's been more than years. More than decades. I've been alone for Ages. All of you have never seen anything but the Age of the Dragon. I've seen so, so many more. All of them alone.”

 

“Well,” Astlyr planted a hand on his leg, “you're not alone right now, are you?”

 

He blinked at her, peering through a curtain of his dark curls. “I will admit that when I joined the Inquisition it was of necessity, but I found myself most surprised by the willingness of its people to befriend me. Stand with me. I had not...I had not expected it. Had I not been seeking the Orb I might still have remained and aided your efforts.”

 

“So stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself. At least fix yourself up. You're making me look like a bad leader, sitting here with wounded when I could have a healthy group. Don't make me bandage you myself. You won't like it.” she couldn't keep a smile from twitching her lips.

 

Fen'Harel finally met her eyes. Still as keenly blue as ever. Her own eyes were the same hue as the Fade, she had been told, much to her chagrin. He raised a hand to his chest and white magic swirled, closing the wound further until it was only a long scratch across his pale flesh. He looked down again, silent for a long moment.

 

“So you hid your friends away, and tricked others. Then what?” Astlyr prompted, her voice gentler now.

 

“Only myself and Mythal remained. She wanted to stay, to try. I didn't want to trick her as I had her husband. She wanted to try to make peace with the humans. She thought the two worlds could reconcile. They...they killed her.”

 

“The humans?” Varric raised his head. He had been prodding a few potatoes into the base of the fire to cook.

 

“I don't know who struck the final blow,” Fen'Harel hugged Astlyr's cloak tighter around himself as though taken with a sudden chill. “She fell. Of course, a god cannot die, but in that moment I found myself utterly alone for the first time in my life. At first I thought I could bear it...”

 

“Wolves travel in packs,” Dorian said, his voice quiet as he watched the flames. His dark eyes flicked up to study Fen'Harel for a moment before returning to his study of the fire.

 

“So, it would seem, do Dread Wolves,” Fen'Harel gave a dry chuckle. “Finally, friendless and hollow, I decided to slumber. I would waken when the time was right, I thought. I would awaken and free my friends and we would have our world back. But sadly, that was not the case.”

 

“Instead you found this, eh?” Varric gestured to the group and the area in general with a wave of his hand. “I suppose I can't blame you for being disappointed.”

 

“But you decided to awaken your friends anyway,” Astlyr filled in.

 

Fen'Harel made a tight sound half way between a groan and wry laugh, “I found Mythal first. She had been awake for longer than I. She too was desperately lonely, but had a better knowledge of what the world was now. How The People were, and the humans, and dwarves now as well,” he nodded towards Varric. “In my time the children of the stone never ventured above ground. Most elves had never seen one. Some thought them a myth,” he paused, coughing dryly and Cole passed him a waterskin. He took a long drought and handed it back with a grateful nod. Astlyr thought he suddenly looked like a refugee. Someone that she and her friends had found and given food and drink. Was this the man she had known in the dark times with Corypheus? Was he a lie then, was he lying now? Fen'Harel pressed on with his narrative. “Mythal wanted to awaken the rest of the pantheon. I did not, though I kept this from her,” he cut a glance towards Astlyr, “and I kept it from you. I sought the Orb and put it into the hands of someone I knew would destroy it.”

 

“Corypheus?” Astlyr sighed.

 

“Astlyr Adaar.”

 

Astlyr raised her brows, “you cannot possibly claim that you somehow had a hand in the dumb luck that brought me to the Temple of Sacred Ashes at just the right moment.” she scoffed.

 

“No,” Fen'Harel admitted, “but when you appeared I knew. I knew I had found one who would do exactly as I hoped. Though I knew Mythal would be very unhappy. I knew she would punish me, and that it might end me for a very long time. I could not turn back. I could not let her waken her mate. He would bring doom on the world.”

 

“Well...shit,” grumbled Varric. “We're screwed then, eh Chuckles?” Varric asked. This was the first time he had used the nickname he had given Solas. Astlyr had wondered if the dwarf thought the name no longer applied. Perhaps he had finally decided how he felt about this wolf god.

 

“Perhaps,” Fen'Harel put his head in his hands.

 

“Is he lying, Cole? Can you tell?” Astlyr turned to her spirit friend who was watching intently.

 

“His sadness is deep, like a sea roiling over and over. Washing him smooth like a stone until it will wear him away. I...I can't tell for certain if he is lying. I don't think so.”

 

“Alright,” Astlyr said, wearily. Her head still hurt and her ribs ached. Cole refreshed her with a quick, soothing touch of his gift, placing a slim hand on her arm for a moment before doing the same for the rest of the group, even Fen, whom the boy eyed with distrust even as he helped.

 

Fen'Harel seemed to have come to the end of his tale, however, and she moved to sit more comfortably, facing her friends. There were no merry marching songs. Potatoes were eaten in introspective silence. Finally Varric, who hated long silences more than anyone, cleared his throat. “Hey Sparkler,” he addressed Dorian, “thanks for that barrier spell you threw over us when that poison gas thing was happening. I think it would have been much worse if you hadn't.”

 

“As much as I would love to claim the credit, I was caught completely flat footed I'm afraid. No, you owe your thanks to the Dread Wolf there.” the tevinter mage explained, nodding in Fen'Harel's direction.

 

“Ah, well, thank you then,” Varric said, never one to withhold praise when it was due.

 

Fen merely nodded and studied his dinner with disinterest. After a moment he rose, Astlyr's cloak falling from his shoulders. He moved a bit away from the camp. All eyes followed him, though no one moved. They waited for Astlyr's signal. Even Myfanwy. Perhaps she had a new view of Fen'Harel, as it was evident he had kept as much from his faithful follower as he had from everyone. Clearly the wolf god was now Astlyr's problem. Heaving a sigh she stood, walking to where the elf had sat she scooped up the cloak and strode out of the firelight to find him.

 

Fen'Harel had not gone far. He stood speaking in hushed tones to the golden halla. The two had their foreheads together and Fen'Harel cupped the creature's jaw in his hands as he spoke. The halla flicked an ear as Astlyr drew closer, slowing her steps so as not to spook the beast. Still the halla turned and moved away, as though allowing the elf and qunari privacy. Astlyr was reminded in that moment of the fall of Haven. How, once she had recovered from her wounds, Solas had drawn her aside. Then he had moved with confident grace. Now he still seemed defeated. His posture slumped and his eyes downcast. Yet, when he looked at her, that same glimmer of intelligence, as sharp as an edge of glass, glinted in his eyes. The wolf was not dead, only wounded.

 

“You and I once talked about what might become of the world after all our trials were over. What we would do. You said you wanted to make the world better and I grew angry with you,” clearly Fen'Harel was also feeling nostalgic. He twisted his hand, veil fire glowing on his palm, making his face look sickly in the green light.

 

“Here. You'll catch your death,” Astlyr threw her cloak over him again, remembering what her mother had always used to say when she ran out into the winter without proper attire (which was often).

 

“I asked you what you would do if you failed in your quest to better the world. Do you remember what you told me?”

 

“That I'd keep trying. I'm stubborn, I suppose. Bull headed. It must be the horns. If a defeat could deter me I think the Inquisition would have needed a new figurehead and fast.” she chuckled.

 

Fen'Harel was drowning in her cloak. It hung to the ground and dragged, but he didn't seem to notice, even as his fingers plucked absently at the hem. “I recall I scoffed at you, but I did think on your words after you had gone. I...I was disappointed with the world I awoke to. I had such hopes that I could return and find it ready for gods again. How wrong I was. It made me bitter. I suppose it still does,” he gave a thin smile, raising his chin to look her in the face. “But lately I've been thinking that this new new world does have something to recommend it.”

 

“Oh yes? What might that be? Horse shit? Slavery? Tea?”

 

Fen'Harel laughed. Astlyr found it immensely reassuring to hear him laugh and she wasn't certain why. “This world has Astlyr Adaar.”

 

“Maker help the world.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maker help the world indeed, my friend.
> 
> Gross chapter involves the coughing up of nasty things... but adventure is seldom clean and pretty.
> 
> We have also learned that Astlyr will be nice to you if you're in trouble, but she has a low tolerance for self pity. Sorry Fen. She will give you her cloak though.
> 
> I decided to make the golden halla much prettier because the in-game model was rather...well...piss colored. I decided it should probably look nicer looking than that. LOL
> 
> What happens next? Tune in next week and find out. Same DA time, same DA channel! As always, don't forget to comment!
> 
> Next: 4/16/15


	20. The Goddess Abroad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter we found Astlyr being saved by wild animals and not allowing Fen'Heral to have a pity party (she always gets stuck blowing up the pity balloons). Bur what happens now? Who is that mysterious Halla, and will they be able to stop the new threat that has come calling?!
> 
> Ps. Love Cole and Astlyr as much as I do? Here's another cute pic of them I drew: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/I-wanted-you-I-needed-you-526225269

Part 20  
The Goddess Abroad

“So,” Astlyr peered at the golden halla, who stood away from them, watchful. The creature's beautiful and unusual coat shimmered in the light of the waning moon and of the nearby fire. “Who is this?”

Fen'Harel beckoned the halla with a gesture and the animal dipped its head, stepping closer. It huffed a gout of steam as it stretched its neck to allow Fen to run a hand along it. The halla's fur was at its winter thickness and it looked quite soft to the touch, but Astlyr didn't dare. Instead she stood still, as she might when trying to interact with an ordinary halla. “The Dalish call her Hanal'ghilan. It roughly translates as 'to find' or 'pathfinder'. Some say that she is capable of seeking out the goddess Ghilan'nain. In reality the creature you see before you is the goddess herself.”

Astlyr whistled low. She was getting too used to the idea of elven gods to question these things any more. At this point Fen'Harel could have pointed to a rock and claimed it was the ancient god of granite and she would have taken him at his word. Of course, the rock had not saved her and her peoples' lives. “So she's been here all this time?”

“She has not always dwelt here in the Plains, no,” Fen'Harel said, still running his hands gently through the halla's thick fur. It seemed to shimmer all the more brightly at his touch. Astlyr took a moment to admire the beast. Powerful legs and neck, accented by the strange, spiraling horns on its head. “She has traveled widely.”

“The Dalish told me that golden halla sometimes appear. A good omen, as I recall. Is she the only one?” Astlyr questioned.

“The People originally bred the desirable white coat trait into the halla, so it would only be natural that it would vary over time. More golden halla may have begun to appear shortly after The People fell.” he looked sadly at the elegant creature beside him. “Perhaps,” he said tightly. “She was compelled to mate with a few males and produce golden offspring.” He spoke softly to Ghilan'nain, “I am so sorry, lethallan, for the indignities you have suffered. I only wish I had come to free you sooner.” The halla placed her head in Fen'Harel's hands.

“Perhaps the rest of my team should hear this,” Astlyr said, gesturing towards the fire where the others huddled. The night was growing steadily colder and even Astlyr shivered, especially without her cloak.

Fen'Harel nodded. He spoke to the halla in a low voice, but Astlyr recognized the lilting cadence of the elvish tongue. Though she spoke not a word of it herself, she still enjoyed the way it sounded. Like a song without a tune. She had always felt the common tongue to be a bit graceless. The way it mashed together words and syllables from the languages of men, dwarves, and even elves. What must it be like to speak an undistilled language? She pondered this as she and the wolf god rejoined the others around the fire. They all moved instinctively to make room for Astlyr in their circle, but seemed to hesitate before allowing Fen'Harel to join them. Finally Cassandra spoke up, “will you be honest with us now, elf?”

Fen'Harel stared firmly into the warrior woman's eyes and did not falter as most would have. “I will. I am sorry that I kept things from you. Years of walking my own path and finding no one to trust has taught me to guard my knowledge fiercely. But perhaps the times have truly changed. Perhaps even gods may have no secrets.”

“They may not,” Cas said, her voice low and dangerous. It was clear that he had made a mistake and repetition of it would lose him the seeker's good grace forever.

Fen'Harel took a seat beside Astlyr when a space was made, though not before returning her cloak to her by settling it over her shoulders. Myfanwy watched her deity with an unreadable expression. Astlyr studied the elvish woman for a moment. Myfanwy was very good at hiding her emotions behind a stoic wall, but Astlyr could hazard a guess, and she knew a few words with Cole could confirm. Instead she shot the spirit boy a warning glance, which he understood. Rather than blurting the anxiety of those sitting in the tense circle he instead encouraged them to have a handful or two of snow to sooth their raw throats. Astlyr did just that, feeling the welcome coolness numb the pain.

Fen explained to the others what he had told Astlyr. They all looked to the halla, who was standing nearer the fire now, large ears cupped forward. The horses eyed this strange creature with obvious distrust and moved to the other side of the fire from her. “So what happened with her?” Varric asked. “Did she ask for your help, or was she one of the ones you tricked?”

Fen'Harel looked ready to shoot Varric an insulted reply, but instead collected himself, answering carefully. “Ghilan'nan asked for my aid. She, like myself, had few followers and little investment in the world as it was. She disdained the pomp and frivolity of The People, and the coming of the humans was the final straw for her. She asked me to help her escape. We worked a spell to lock her in her animal form, so that no magic or torture could force her to change back.”

“Looks like it worked a bit too well,” Dorian pointed out, still scrutinizing the halla.

“It did,” Fen'Harel agreed, his voice soft with sorrow. “We became separated from one another before I could help her escape and she was forced to flee alone. Without my aid, and her foci, she was unable to transform back to her true shape.”

“You had her foci?” Dorian questioned, tearing his gaze from the halla-goddess.

“Yes. I was to keep it safe for her. For a time I was in possession of many foci.”

There was a suspicious muttering all around. “That sounds awfully convenient for you. Holding all those items of power.” said Cassandra.

“My intentions were honorable,” Fen'Harel protested.

Astlyr glanced at Cole. The boy had his eyes fixed on Fen'Harel as though he intended to bore a hole in the man with his gaze alone. Cole's eyes flicked to meet Astlyr's for a moment, as though he had sensed her unspoken question. “He has opened more of his pain to me,” the boy said, his eyes darting back to fix themselves on the elf again. “It's through a warped glass, but I can see the shapes of his despair. If he is lying to us then he himself believes the lie.”

“Alright, so you helped your friends to hide away, and you forced or tricked those you didn't like as much,” Varric clarified. “Am I understanding the story so far?”

“Yes, in the simplest terms,” Fen'Harel smiled thinly.

“With all your old friends tucked away, what did you do with their foci?” asked Dorian, who had speared a potato from the fire with a stick and was tossing it from hand to hand to cool it.

“I hid the foci where I thought they would be safe. I intended to slumber for a short time. I had no suspicion that I would sleep so long. When I woke I found that many of the foci had been discovered and stolen, or simply misplaced by the people of this new world. Mythal only recently recovered her own. I was meant to gather others, but obviously that was not my true intention.” Fen'Harel folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them.

“So now she is setting about finding foci and raising the other gods,” Astlyr said, her voice low, as though she suspected spies were listening in from the rocks nearby.

“I fear She has already raised too many. We are sorely outmatched,” Fen'Harel admitted tightly, still not looking up from where his pale fingers were meshed together with anxiety.

“She loves too much, and She mistakes too much,” mumbled Cole, still watching Fen'Harel as a hawk watches a rabbit. It was an odd contrast, Astlyr thought, to see the slip of a boy staring down the god as though he were the stronger. A mouse daring a wolf to make a move. Yet Fen did not exert whatever powers he may possess, instead continuing to look cowed in the face of these mortals and their otherworldly companion.

“Mythal believes what she is doing will bring about the world as it was. A world where She was powerful and loved. She can feel the emptiness, the weakness She has here, but She recalls all too keenly what it was to be worshiped. She will do anything to have what she once had.”

“Would you?” Astlyr questioned, her dark brows coming together as she scrutinized the elf.

“No,” Fen'Harel said, though he did not sound pleased. “For better or worse I understand that this world will never again be what is was in ages past. We elvhen gods will never again rise above all the people and stand cloaked in power beyond imagining. Too much has happened. Too many other races now thrive across these lands, and to bring our world back we would attempt to destroy theirs. I cannot let this be.” He heaved a weary sigh. “Mythal sees all others as lesser. She was not as fortunate as I. She did not discover friendships here.”

“Who said we were friends?” Astlyr snarked, giving Fen's shoulder a playful shove with her elbow.

The elf chuckled, if a bit sadly. Cassandra sat forward, tenting her fingers, “So that man who attacked us with the poison smoke, he was called June?”

“Yes.”

“And he was one of your fellow gods, and so is she?” the warrior woman gestured to the halla standing just outside the firelight.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel finally raised his face to meet the scrutinizing eyes of the group.

“Do you want to free her?”

“I do,” Fen nodded, loose curls of dark hair falling messily over his brow with the motion.

“How do we know she will not attack us. You said that June was no enemy of yours until he felt that you had failed him. Will she not feel the same way?” Cassandra’s expression was shrewd, calculating.

“I do not believe so, though I cannot be certain,” Fen'Harel answered. The halla made a soft grunting noise as though she had understood that she was being spoken of.

“Was it her foci that June escaped with today?” Astlyr asked, stabbing a potato for herself from the ashes of the fire. The treat had been wrapped in thick leaves which prevented it from becoming too sooty. Astlyr gingerly unwrapped her dinner and bounced it from hand to hand as Dorian had done until it cooled. Varric passed her a little packet of salt and she took a pinch to flavor her meal.

“No,” Fen'Harel looked pained. “It was the foci of Falon'Din. Known in these ages as the god of the dead.”

“Maker,” Dorian exhaled the word, eyes growing wide. “That doesn't sound good.”

“Falon'Din is not inherently evil,” Fen'Harel said, his tone almost scolding. “It is a human idea that death is an evil force. The People believe that Falon'Din guides the fallen to the afterlife.”

“Did he?” Astlyr tilted her head, questioning as she finished her dinner, licking salt from her fingers.

“After a fashion. You must understand that death of old age was rare in the time of the elvhen. The People were very long lived. Death usually occurred in battle, often pointless conflicts encouraged by the bickering of the gods. At first Falon'Din walked the battlefields, much as Compassion might have done, aiding those who were suffering into death and giving them comfort. Some claim that he could follow their spirits on the journey to the afterlife, though I had never seen this.”

“So he's a nice fellow then?” Varric asked, tossing another log onto the fire. The flame sparked and danced, reflecting red as blood on the snow.

“After a time he became like the others. His own followers were not numerous, but were possessed of great death magics. A more powerful version of what you wield, Dorian,” Fen'Harel gestured towards the necromancer.

“That sounds fascinating,” Dorian admitted. Astlyr knew that her friend was forever studying. Trying to better his knowledge and prowess.

“But where Dorian is cautious, Falon'Din was reckless. He little cared for method as long as it yielded results. At his worst he was known to kill his own followers to reach his ends,” Fen'Harel looked deeply sad as he watched the fire dance, devouring the fresh log.

“He walks the field and kneels beside a dying man. 'Water' the man pleads, and the death god brings the waterskin to his lips. Heat and hate and horrors reflect in his eyes and leave no mark on his mind. Death is his home and it understands him. He places a blade to the dying man's neck and red water spills onto the field. His thanks is a whisper on a deathly breeze. He was kind to them once. I remember him then,” Cole said, in the rapid way he always used when reading someone's pain. Astlyr knew he must be feeling Fen'Harel's memories of Falon'Din.

“And now they'll revive that death god fellow and then what? Turn him against us?” Varric questioned, frowning.

“In a fashion,” Fen'Harel said. “They believe they are on the side of The People and against those who threaten the world that was. A world they still believe belongs solely to the elvhen. There will be much death. Falon'Din will feel justified.”

“Maker,” groaned Cassandra. “What can we do about it?”

“Very little,” Fen'Harel admitted. “I would like to revive Ghilan'nain. She may be able to aid us in some way. Though she is but a lesser god, as I am.”

“You are no lesser god!” Everyone jumped. It was the first time Myfanwy had spoken and her voice was hard as flint. Her brown eyes danced with firelight making them seem to burn with their own inner flame. “My brother and I did not follow a lesser god. Daveth did not give his life to one lesser. Having few followers does not make you unworthy to be as strong as those others.”

Fen'Harel looked at Myfanwy with deep emotion on his features. Astlyr could not fully grasp what passed between them with only a look, but she understood that it was powerful. She could almost feel it, like magic in the air.

“Do you know where Ghilan'nain's foci is located?” asked Dorian, interrupting the moment as he moved to prepare his bedroll. Once again the season made it too difficult to make pitching tents worth the effort, but they had chosen a spot to camp sheltered by the large rock formations which were plentiful on the Plains.

“Yes, if it has remained where I placed it.” Fen'Harel affirmed.

“And that would be?” Astlyr questioned, hoping adamantly that it was not in the Hinterlands. They'd have quite a trek ahead of them if that was the case. It was a goodly ride east from the Exalted Plains.

“It is located in the Emerald Graves,” Fen'Harel said, and Astlyr breathed a sigh of relief. That was very doable. She glanced sideways at the golden halla, who was still watching them intently. “If the foci is not where you put it, perhaps we could try something else,” he looked down at her hand, gloved against the cold. In her mind's eye she saw her mark, etched in green on her skin. “Perhaps you are strong enough to do what Mythal did and use my energy to help Ghilan'nain back to her true form.”

“Perhaps,” Fen'Harel's brows came together in a concerned look. “However I would rather leave that as a last resort. I am uncertain of the technique and I fear I could do more harm than good to everyone involved. Your mark, and its powers, remain a steadfast mystery to me. As other memories become clear over time, I have no new recollections of the anchor. Either it is not elven, or it remained well hidden from us until I slumbered and my companions were locked away.”

Astlyr shrugged, still scrutinizing her hand as though she could see through her glove. Then she too spread out her bedroll and tucked herself inside. The group had long since worked out watch rotations, only changing them if someone requested it. Cassandra took first watch that night, kept company by Cole. Astlyr suspected that some reading would be done as one kept an eye on their surroundings. Often she was woken by the steady, soothing sound of the seeker's voice, reading aloud to Cole as he patrolled the camp like a watchful hound.

As Astlyr tucked herself into her warm, waterproofed sleeping roll she heard movement near her. Fen'Harel had spread his own bed beside hers. Though he was between her and the fire and his face in shadow, she could still make out his blue eyes. They shone a bit like an animal's might, catching and reflecting ambient light. “I wanted to thank you,” he said, very quietly so no one else would hear.

“For what?” she asked, tucking her chilled lips under the hem of her covers and watching his eyes.

“For not turning me away when you found that I had lied to you. I know it wounded you, and I am sorry.”

“It was a wound I was expecting,” she admitted. “Cole knew you weren't always upfront with me.”

“Than I owe you two debts of thanks,” he said. She could just make out the shape of his face. Though it was still definitely Daveth's there were features which reminded her of Solas. She could almost imagine it was he who lay beside her in the snow. She felt a pang in her heart. Though the man before her was one and the same with the man she had known as Solas there was still a difference about him now. Where once he had carried himself with confident pride he now seemed beaten. He often behaved like one expecting a blow at any moment. It made her nervous that he might still be holding something back. Perhaps not telling her how severe the situation with Mythal and her gathering forces truly was. Still, she saw glimmers of the proud wolf within this man. He was not beaten yet.

“You're welcome,” she smiled, though she suspected he could not see. “As Cole could tell you, for better or worse, I'm just an old softie in the end. It had better not come back to bite me,” she raised an eyebrow in warning.

“Never fear,” there was a glimmer in Fen'Harel's eyes now. “This wolf will only bite your enemies.”

“That was bad,” she groaned playfully. “Don't tell Varric, he'll want to use it.” 

“Was it?” she knew he was grinning.

~~~~

The next morning Astlyr scanned the camp as her crew packed up. She was bent over, seeing to Smoke's hooves. Balls of ice had formed in his feet over night and she picked them out with a hoof knife, tutting with displeasure. “Winter can end any time it feels like it,” she grumbled.

“I hate to tell you, but I think we have a few more months of this shit,” Varric commented, throwing his saddle onto Juniper's back. The small horse didn't even look up from pawing the snow searching for grass underneath.

“Ugh,” Astlyr grunted, finishing with Smoke's feet and taking a sack of grain from her saddlebags to feed him from her hand. The big horse ate greedily and she enjoyed the warm tickle of his lips against her palm. He sent grain flying as he munched messily and Juniper gobbled up the fallen bits faster than Smoke could.

“So we're on to the Emerald Graves then?” Dorian asked, saddling his own horse.

Cassandra strode over and fixed the cinch for him. “Dandy won't thank you if there's a twist in the strap,” she said, not unkindly.

“To be honest I used to have servants to saddle my horse for me,” Dorian admitted as he let Cas show him how to best tighten the cinch.

The seeker instructed with a firm but patient tone. “Some people will knee the beast in the belly to make him let out his air, but I find that walking him in a circle does the trick.” she said, demonstrating.

As Astlyr mounted up she shot a glance at Fen'Harel, who had been quiet all morning. He did not seem as beaten as the night before, and his graceful, upright posture was returned. Still, he went about his business in silence. Myfanwy too was quiet and did not make much eye contact with her god. Astlyr could sense the rift between them. Cole appeared beside her, astride Shadow. The old horse didn't even twitch an ear at the sudden weight of the boy. He was quite accustomed to his unusual rider. “They will be alright,” Cole said in a whisper to Astlyr. “She is hurt and angry, but she will recover. They don't even need my help for that.”

Astlyr shot a sideways glance at her spirit friend, concerned that he might be unhappy that he was not needed. He seemed content, his hat flopping with each step Shadow took. He let the horse's reins hang loose, knowing that Shadow was tied to Smoke, and would likely have followed the larger beast anyway. Feeling some relief that at least her party was not about to break down, Astlyr settled into the business of a long ride.

~~~~~

The trip to the Emerald Graves took about a day and a half. The riding was good, and the snow held off, though it threatened with brooding skies full of morose clouds. The golden halla kept up with the party, about two horse-lengths behind. Astlyr wondered aloud, as she grained Smoke on the second day, if the animal-goddess needed any feeding. The halla had snorted and tossed her head, clearly insulted, and Fen'Harel had chuckled.

It was clear that no one in the group quite knew how to react to the halla goddess. It was as though she were an unusual spy in their midst. Where normally banter would have kept spirits up as they rode, instead there was only the sound of hoof-beats and the distant call of winter birds.

The Graves, in summer almost impossibly green, were now bathed in undisturbed white. It almost hurt to look at. Even the animal tracks were few, though she knew for a fact that this area had a great deer and nug population, not to mention the giants, many of which she had personally slain. There was more tree cover here, and it was hillier than the Plains. Large rock formations still stood tall against the snow, but they were fewer. Astlyr breathed the frosted air, still glad of the feeling of a full breath. She would not soon forget the sensitization of being unable to get air. She wondered if that was what drowning felt like.

“Drowning is faster,” said Cole.

“Oh...thank you,” she muttered dispassionately. She turned to Fen'Harel, who rode nearby, seemingly lost in quiet contemplation. “Do you think Celwydd...June,” she corrected herself, “will have found Ghilan'nain's foci as well?”

“It is possible,” he answered, scanning the terrain as though searching for a familiar landmark. “We must hope he has not. If he had not collected it before our encounter I doubt he will have afterward. Myfanwy left him with a nasty wound.”

“I was aiming for his lung,” the elvish woman grumbled, having obviously been listening in.

“He will seek healing, but it will take him time to recover,” Fen'Harel said, giving Myfanwy an appreciative nod. “Your excellent shot bought us some time.”

Myfanwy's lip twitched as she tried to contain a proud smile.

Fen squinted again at the snowy landscape. “There,” he pointed. One of the wolf statues that Astlyr was starting to notice were scattered all over Fereldan stood out amongst a stand of dormant ash trees. Snow nested in the curve of the stone beast's back and between its upright ears. She heard Fen'Harel make a sound of relief as he dismounted and moved towards the statue on foot.

“Hold on,” Astlyr barked, recalling the last time they had gone to find a foci. “Myfanwy, do you notice anything out of place?”

Fen'Harel stopped reluctantly as Mywanfy scanned their surroundings with a practiced eye. “A herd of deer came through over there, but stayed well back from the alter,” she pointed and Astlyr followed her gesture to see the tracks, barely visible as they wound down a natural path between two hills. “And there, two people have marked that tree.”

Astlyr peered at the ash tree which bore the image of a heart carved into its bark with the letters N and A inside it. “A human custom I think,” she explained. “When you're in love you leave a monument to it in the bark of a defenseless tree,” she chuckled dryly.

“The tree didn't mind,” said Cole.

Astlyr raised and eyebrow, “you can read trees?”

“Sometimes. Not often,” Cole shrugged as though this notion were perfectly ordinary. “Trees are quiet and slow. Their blood runs like sleep instead of fire. Sometimes they sing.”

“Alright then,” Astlyr shook her head, intrigued, but trying to stay on task. “Any sign of recent human or elvish activity?”

“No,” Myfanwy said, slowly lowering herself from the saddle.

“May I?” Fen'Harel asked, looking back towards the group.

“Carry on,” Astlyr said, swinging her long leg over Smoke's back and hitting the snowy earth with both feet. “Will we be long?” she asked, wondering if she should unsaddle the horse.

“This should take moments,” Fen'Harel assured her, hands and staff already poised to cast at the wolf statue.

Astlyr gave Smoke's rump a gentle smack and the horse trotted away, as he might when his rider was in battle. The other horses followed him, though Shadow had no choice, still tied as he was. Astlyr turned back to watch the elf god. Her friends gathered around her.

She expected Fen'Harel to use his earth magic to break the statue apart. She guessed that the foci must be inside it, or perhaps beneath its bulk. Instead a pale green magic flowed from Fen's spread fingers and upraised staff. The magic slithered, seeming too small, too harmless to do more than chip the stone wolf. The green light swirled upwards over the cold surface and surged towards the staring, blank eyes of the beast. Then the magic seemed to push itself into the eyes themselves. Before Astlyr had time to wonder at this the stone animal twitched.

“Maker,” Cassandra exhaled, taking her shield from her back instinctively.

“Andraste's flaming undies,” Varric swore. Astlyr logged that phrasing away for future use as she stared.

The stone wolf blinked, flicked an ear, then yawned. It looked around itself and then down at Fen'Harel. With a surprising 'yip' sound it sprang up and charged the elf. Astlyr's sword was in her hand and she was reaching for her shield before she heard the elf-god laughing. The massive stone wolf ran around Fen'Harel, tail wagging and whipping branches clean off nearby trees. It churned up the snow, obviously overjoyed.

“What in all the hells is it?” asked Cassandra, coming to stand beside Astlyr, her shield strap done up clumsily in her haste to don it.

Everyone else seemed to be at a complete loss. Even Varric let his mouth fall open, but said nothing. Astlyr expected Cole to launch into a convoluted explanation, but the boy remained silent as well. Fen'Harel spoke to the moving statue in elvish and it quieted, though it still wagged its tail, whipping a cold wind in Astlyr's face.

Myfanwy came to stand beside the qunari and Astlyr leaned down to whisper, “what is he saying?”

“I'm not certain,” Myfanwy admitted, “he's speaking an ancient elvish tongue, I think. I can recognize some root words. Friend...I think...and loyalty, or is it trust? He's speaking too fast.”

Fen'Harel turned to the group then, smiling more broadly than Astlyr had seen in a long time. His whole face was lit with a merry light that even Astlyr had to admit was contagious. She found the corners of her own mouth tilting upwards. “This is my friend. His name is Alun,” Fen'Harel introduced the stone wolf with a gesture. “The guardian of the foci and one of my dearest followers.”

“Followers?” Dorian asked, brows skeptically high. The mage seemed the most distrustful of the situation. His staff was drawn and purple magic clung to it, ready to be sent surging towards an enemy.

“In my time I was never a popular god, and I did not actively seek followers,” Fen'Harel explained as the wolf lowered its head and he petted its giant muzzle. Fen glanced at Myfanwy before continuing. “Those I did have were extremely faithful. I seem to engender loyalty in those who swear themselves to me,” he shrugged.

“An admirable thing, if the loyalty is earned,” Cassandra said.

Fen'Harel nodded. “The warring began and my followers, few though they were, remained by my side. Many expressed that, should they be dying, they did not wish to follow Falon'Din to the next lands. They saw him as an enemy, as he was one of those already flouting his power. When one of my people was wounded or ill, I offered them the chance for eternity.”

“As a stone dog?” Varric, stepping forward timidly. The living statue looked at him, ears pricked forward, eyes alright with the magical green shimmer of Fen'Harel's gift.

“They would not remain as a statue forever,” Fen'Harel said. “I would allow them to travel the lands in this form. Immortal.”

Varric made a scoffing sound, “seems dangerously close to what the dwarves were doing with their golems.”

“Perhaps,” Fen said, dipping his head in assent. “Not all of my followers chose this path, and fewer still took on the next burden I asked of them. To watch over the foci of my friends until such time as I could free them again.”

Ghilan'nain moved nearer to the odd scene. She had been hanging back, near the horses, watching with her ears pinned against her head in uncertainty. Upon hearing Fen'Harel's tale she carefully picked her way towards the stone wolf and the elvish god. Fen'Harel turned to his stone companion again, “please give me the foci, faithful one. Your duty is finally ended.”

The Wolf stepped back, then coughed. Bits of gravel fell from its mouth onto the snow, and then something else, shimmering delicately, tumbled from its jaws. As the wolf wretched out the content of its stone stomach Astlyr had a thought that made her chest tighten. “When we found June there was stone wreckage all around,” she said, watching Fen, who had turned to meet her gaze. “Was that-?”

“He was, yes. His name was Petras,” Fen'Harel dipped his head and Astlyr did not need Cole's help to read his pain. No wonder he had called June a murderer. Astlyr bit her tongue with her back teeth. To lose an old friend in such a way. One who had slumbered only to never awaken to find out what had become of the world. Never to know that his god had returned for him. She fought back the urge to comfort Fen'Harel. Later, she knew. For the moment they had a task and her tactical mind prickled with the desire to be about it.

The wolf had finished its hacking and sat down, the end of its tail twitching good-naturedly. Fen'Harel knelt and sorted through the bits of stone the wolf has expelled onto the snow. Tiny spools of magic clung and coiled around the pieces. Finally Fen held up what he had been seeking, a look of immense relief on his face. It was a small object with a leather cord dangling from it. Astlyr moved closer, cautious. It appeared to be the point of an antler. It was as white as the snowy world around them and shimmering with residual magic. “The foci?” she asked.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel said, his tone reverent. Cradling the object in his hands as though it were the most delicate glass he moved towards Ghilan'nain. The halla snorted and stamped at first, tossing back her slender head and exhaling a gout of steamy breath. Then she quieted. Fen'Harel spoke to her, again in the ancient elvish tongue. She lowered her great, twisted antlers towards him, closing her eyes as she bent a knee, seeming to bow at Fen'Harel's feet. With immense delicacy Fen'Harel looped the cord of leather around one of Ghilan'nain's antlers. Then he stepped back, watchful.

At first nothing happened, though the air was suddenly heavy with a sensation of waiting. Astlyr could feel it. Deep, old magic tugging. Her hand twinged and she wondered if her mark was reacting. She didn't move to pull off her glove. She felt frozen in place by the moment. Not one of her friends so much as twitched. Even the stone wolf's tail stopped thumping the ground. The snow it had been kicking up settled.

Then the old magic surged. Astlyr's hand exploded with pain and she heard Fen'Harel gasp. Cole's hand closed around Astlyr's wrist, though she did not know if it was for her comfort or his. It was as though he clung to her to avoid being washed away in an unseen wave. The halla shone an otherworldly gold, far brighter than she had before. Astlyr blinked as her eyes watered in the sudden shine. Then the snow and magic around the animal-goddess began to roil and rise, swirling about her in a tunnel of twisting color and power. Astlyr had to bite down hard to keep from yelping as her hand lanced with a fresh shard of pain. There was Fade magic here and she could feel the veil so close it was pressing against her. She knew Cole sensed it too, the boy whimpered, and gripped her wrist harder. At least his fingernails digging into her arm were distracting from the pain in her hand, she thought.

The halla, caught up in this mass of magic and snow, began to transform. It took only seconds and afterward Astlyr doubted very much she could have recounted what she saw if she'd been asked. Varric was going to have a hell of a time describing this moment in his next book, which she imagined would be titled 'The Further Adventures of The inquisitor ~or~ Weird Shit We Found in Fereldan.'

Astlyr cleared her eyes of tears with a few more blinks and looked up. Where the halla had stood a woman had taken the animal's place. She was tall, at least for an elf. Her skin was very pale, her eyes large and dark. She wore a white dress which fell around her legs in perfect folds all the way to the ground. Her hair was so pale it almost seemed white, with just a hint of gold, and it cascaded, straight and smooth, all the way to the backs of her knees. On her head the woman wore an elaborate headpiece shaped like the antlers of a halla. Her foci was in her hand. The woman stood very still, staring at them all with wide, animal eyes. Then she turned to Fen'Harel, who stepped nearer, a look of awe on his face, mingling with an emotion Astlyr couldn't identify. Then the goddess rushed to Fen, closing the gap between them with three hurried steps of her delicate, bare feet. She slid thin, perfect hands around his jaw and kissed him on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slower chapter. I'm sorry. I always feel bad about slow chapters, but at the same time, we need them. All action all the time would totally never fly. Don't worry though, in an upcoming chapter I plan to beat the crap out of all your favorite characters again! Huzzah!
> 
> In other news, what I have seen of the Jaws of Hakkon DLC does not mess with my lore tweaking at all, and in some ways it even supports it. Yay! If you have played the DLC and have found something that directly conflicts with my lore tweaks, I would definitely be interested to know! Thanks!
> 
> I wanted to ask y'all, are there any characters you want to see more of? Such as Bull, Blackwall or Viv who have not been getting as much screen time (More Cullen is coming, don't worry)? Or are you happy with the peeps we have now? Speak up now and I can give them a little more lovin' in an upcoming chapter!
> 
> As always don't forget to comment! Even on these slower chapters, comments let me know you're still tuned in and still interested in the story :) Plus, Cole would want you to!
> 
> Next: 4/23/15


	21. Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it is a rarity, but some Thursdays I don't have to work in the morning! Whaaaaaat? That means you get the chapter hours earlier...which probably doesn't make a lick of difference, but here it is anyway because it makes me happy!
> 
> In the previous chapter Astlyr resurrected an ancient elven goddess who used to be a halla, and who then starting getting her mack on with Fen'Harel. The best part though? Alun the giant stone puppy! Who doesn't want one of those?!
> 
> It's back to serious Inquisitor business in this chapter!

Chapter 21  
Judgment

Astlyr had no idea how to react to the strange lip-lock. Ghilan'nain had to bend down slightly to kiss Fen'Harel. For his part the wolf god seemed alarmed by the entire situation. His arms remained tensed at his sides and he pulled away as soon as he could. Having finished the kiss Ghilan'nain threw her arms around his shoulders and spoke in an elegant, lilting voice. Astlyr could not understand a word of what the beautiful woman said, as she used the ancient elvish dialect.

“Should we leave you two alone?” asked Varric, grinning like the cat that had gotten into the cream.

“That is not necessary,” Fen'Harel said tightly, managing to extricate himself from Ghiln'nain's arms. He looked thoroughly embarrassed and Astlyr was amused to see that his cheeks and the tips of his ears were red. “She is merely pleased to be restored to her true form,” Fen explained.

“It seems so,” Cassandra smirked, her eyebrow twitching suggestively. Astyr chuckled as she watched her friends. Even stoic Cas couldn't resist a good jab.

Ghilan'nain spoke again in her musical voice as she looked over Astlyr and company. Fen'Harel shook hie head, “of course. My lack of manners shame me,” as though he had not just been aggressively kissed against his will.

“These are my friends,” he began using the elven tongue, clearly introducing Ghilan'nain to everyone. The woman stepped forward and clasped each person's hands in turn. When she reached Myfanwy the Dalish elf bowed low, also speaking in the elvish language, though even Astlyr could recognize that Myfanwy used the modern version. Ghilan'nain looked a bit confused. She asked Fen'Harel something and he visibly bristled, answering her brusquely and moving her along to meet Astlyr.

The goddess stopped before Astlyr and her eyes grew wide, face to face with the qunari for the first time in her true form. Ghilan'nain glanced over her shoulder at Fen'Harel asking a question with a look. Fen laughed, speaking to her again. “She wants to know if your horns are real,” he explained in common.

Astlyr grinned and leaned down so the goddess could touch one of her horns. Ghilan'nain gasped as she gingerly brushed her fingertips over a horn and then withdrew her hand, stepping back and speaking quickly. Astlyr felt lost without the language. Cole tried to fill in, though it was clear that the newest deity was also able to block him from her thoughts, “Her mind is muddled. There are pieces of the halla still inside. Bits of paper clinging to the binding. What was I? She wonders how you came to be. In her time there were no qunari. In her mind she calls you 'daughter of the dragon. ”

“Apparently that's what elves call me,” Astlyr said with a shrug. “So...what now?” she looked between the goddess and the giant stone wolf, who still sat watching over them, once again twitching his tail.

“Let us first deal with my friend,” Fen'Harel said, looking to the animated statue.

“Does he have to go back to being stone?” asked Cole, concern evident in his voice.

“Not if he does not desire it,” Fen'Harel said. The wolf lowered its head and Fen gave it a pat. “He may remain awake, as it were, though it might be dangerous for him. He is not... stealthy. It is likely he will be discovered and studied or put to work, or deemed a threat and destroyed. He may also choose release. He has lived many years and seen much of this world. Perhaps he is ready to leave it.”

“You mean he was aware all the years that he sat here guarding that foci? All those ages?” Dorian gasped.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel spoke quietly, looking ashamed. “There was no other way.”

“Would he like to come with us to Skyhold?” Astlyr asked, eying Alun. For something so huge and seemingly dangerous he looked quite docile.

“Tell me aren't already considering riding him into battle,” Varric snorted.

“She is,” said Cole. Astlyr wasn't certain if the boy had plucked the notion from her mind, or whether he simply knew her well enough to anticipate her flights of fancy.

Astlyr shot the spirit boy a mock warning glare. “He would have to remain outside the fortress, but I imagine having a large stone wolf at our disposal would be extremely useful. A perfect guard dog if you will.”

Fen'Harel smiled, “I admit I had hoped you might suggest such a scenario.” He turned to the wolf and spoke to it. It raised its head and looked at Astlyr, then its tail wagged again and nearly took out a small tree. It leaped over to her, somehow managing not to tread on her team as they scattered to avoid stone paws, shouting in disgruntlement. The wolf lowered its head, obviously expecting Astlyr to give it a pat as well. She laughed and petted the cold stone.

“It looks as though we have a new member of the Inquisition,” she chuckled as she petted. Nearby the horses looked exceedingly alarmed.

“Maker's blessing,” Cassandra groaned, but she too stepped up to run her gauntletted hand over the stone animal's side. “He does seem friendly enough.”

“He's so happy to be able to move again,” said Cole. The spirit reached up and placed his hand on Alun's nose. The two seemed to commune silently for a long moment.

“Are we really bringing that thing home with us?” Dorian asked, highly skeptical.

“It's better than letting him roam the Emerald Graves, isn't it?” Astlyr questioned. Alun turned towards her, grey eyes seemingly fixed on her, though they had no pupils. The wolf's tail gave a small wag, careful not not to strike any of those gathered around him.

“He would be lonesome if we left him here,” said Cole. “He's been lonely. Watching everything go by. Seasons stack on seasons like old books and gather dust and decay.”

“Alright, I understand,” Dorian forestalled Cole before he could fall into a full ramble. “Wonderful. Now I feel guilty for even considering leaving him.”

Astlyr chuckled. Then she turned back to look at Ghilan'nain. The goddess was standing with Fen'Harel, speaking in hushed tones. Her elegant head dipped low, perfectly shaped lips moving rapidly as they conversed in their forgotten tongue. As if to further punctuate the woman's beauty a light snow was beginning, landing delicately in her hair like shimmering decoration. The flakes were small, and a wind was picking up, so Astlyr knew that the weather would turn for the worse soon enough.

She cleared her throat, uncertain. One god she felt confident with, though it had taken a while. What to do with two? Ghilanl'nain had, however, saved Astlyr's people from a gasping, unpleasant death. She felt compelled to trust her. She wasn't certain what the next step might be. Fen'Harel spoke to her, raising his blue eyes to meet hers with the bright intensity she had come to know from Solas. “It would be best, I think, to bring Lady Ghilan'nain back to Skyhold with us.”

“Should we take her immediately or do we seek the other foci first?” Astlyr questioned, her mind already working like a battle commander's. Rearranging the guard detail, assigning another Templar to watch over this new 'guest'. Their templars were already few and far between. Something occurred to her. “Er, is Lady Ghilan'nain a mage?”

“She is,” Fen'Harel nodded once, businesslike.

Astlyr cursed inwardly and she heard Cassandra take in a tight breath, but bite back her concern. The two women thought enough alike for Cas to know that she and the inquisitor shared the same worries on the subject. “What sort of mage?” Astlyr questioned.

“She was trained in an ancient style.”

“Can a templar stop her?” Cassandra's tone was practical as ever in the face of Fen's vague response. Her severe brows were knit together, tightening a crease between her eyes.

“I believe a templar would be as effective with her as with any modern mage. She was trained in a time when our connection to the Fade was much stronger. The veil thinner. Now she is limited by the very things that limit every modern mage.”

“Who are you calling limited?” asked Dorian, obviously deciding that it was time to lighten the mood.

Ghilan'nain looked at the tevinter mage and muttered something to Fen'Harel. He spoke shortly back to her and she nodded. Astlyr watched this exchanged as she felt snow collecting on her armor at the back of her neck. Her body heat would cause it to melt, and soon a little trickle of cold water would find its way down her spine. Disadvantages of wearing armor in snowy weather. “Will she harm us?”

“No,” Fen'Harel met her gaze again. She sighed. What a pity he had a reputation for lying. With all this god business she deeply wished that the person she most needed to trust was not the one she was least certain of. Cole had been correct, she did forgive those who lied to her, but she also never forgot. No use letting someone use the same trick twice. She shook her head, wearily.

“Should we not seek out more foci immediately?” Cassandra questioned.

“I don't like the look of those clouds,” Dorian pointed out as the snow began to fall more heavily. “Unless our lady of the golden deer is a weather mage of some kind, we might be best served to retreat to shelter for the day to discuss this further.”

“Where is the next foci you know of?” Astlyr questioned, uncertain she liked the idea of an unknown mage, goddess or no, following her team around as they quested. Her people had a rhythm. A time-tested way of doing things, and babysitting an elven deity was not something she had anticipated dealing with.

“I am afraid it is located in the Western approach,” Fen'Harel admitted.

“You do not know of any that are nearer?” Cassandra asked, clearly taken aback.

“None that I am certain remain hidden,” Fen'Harel replied. “I know that many have been discovered, relocated, sold, and claimed in the ages while I slept.”

“At least that should make it more difficult for Mythal to find them,” Astlyr pointed out.

“This is true. I believe that she is unaware of the one in the Approach. Dirthamen was one of the last that I hid. She was not privy to its location.”

“Wait, Dirthamen? The one from the map picture in the temple?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel nodded. “He may be an important ally indeed, as he is the brother of Falon'Din. The god whose foci June reclaimed yesterday.”

“Maker's balls,” Astlyr groaned. Nothing with these damn elf gods was ever simple. Asltyr let her head tip back so she was looking at the sky. The snow fell against her face, melting and sliding like tears down her cheeks and jaw. Her mind fished for something, anything, that was in her control. “Shelter,” she mumbled.

“What was that M'gel?”

“We should find shelter, then discuss all this further,” she said, turning and striding over to Smoke. She brushed snow from his saddle with her gloved hand and mounted up. “We'll make for Fairbank's old camp. It's near.”

“Right,” Cassandra said, climbing nimbly into the saddle. When much of the team have achieved their mounts Astlyr turned to the two elves, still standing together. “Erm...what do we do with her? Can she ride Cole's horse?”

“I will teleport ahead to the camp,” the Spirit boy offered. “I'll light a fire and make sure everything is ready for you.”

“Use caution,” Astlyr warned. “If you see any trouble there, any sign of Venatori, or worse, you come back to us. Understand? Do not engage them.”

“Yes,” Cole said with a firm nod that made his hat brim flop. Drawing his daggers as a precaution, the boy vanished in a swirl of snow.

Ghilan'nain watched this, mumbling something to Fen'Harel. He answered her, then looked back to Astlyr, “She is merely curious about the spirit in our company, so clearly valued as an equal.” he paused, considering the horses. He asked the goddess a question, and seemed to be explaining the situation. Finally she nodded. “She wishes to ride alongside me.”

Astlyr agreed and untied Shadow's reins from Smoke's saddle. She tethered the old horse to Fen'Harel's mount and helped the lady Ghilan'nain to clamber up. The goddess looked exceedingly uncertain about the whole situation, but obliged.

Soon the party was on the move as the snow began to come down more heavily. Astlyr hoped that the bad weather would only last the night. They did not need another blizzard to trap them in The Graves. She gave the sky a warning glance as she rode. She kept a careful eye on the landscape, knowing that Myfanwy was doing the same. There was no sign of any human enemies, though she did spy a wolf pack moving some distance off. The animals did not approach, clearly not eager to tangle with her. Though the wolves in this area could be hostile, they usually kept clear. No bears in sight, Astlyr noted with relief.

Perhaps the wildlife was intimidated by Alun, who walked some distance behind the group, Astlyr mused. The horses tended to spook if he drew too near and poor Dorian had nearly been unhorsed when Dandy decided to try to bolt. The horses were used to all manner of threats, from dragons to giant bears, but seldom had to walk along with such creatures. No doubt Smoke wondered why Astlyr did not slay the beastie. Alun seemed to have a decent understanding of the situation and kept well back.

Shortly they reached the old stronghold which had, during the autumn months, been inhabited by deserters from Orlais. The people had since moved on to a more permanent fortress, leaving the camp behind. It was nestled in a chasm which Fairbanks had roofed as best he could with old planks and leather tarps. It would make a suitable camp for the night at least. If the weather did not become too extreme.

Cole had been as good as his word, and when Astlyr and her people had situated the horses in one of the smaller structures which had made temporary homes for Fairbank's men, she saw appreciatively that a fire was crackling away in the main area. A waterfall cut very near this camp, but Cole had carefully placed the fire as far from it as he could, so the cold and damp of the rushing water would not disturb the group. Astlyr gave her spirit friend a big smile of thanks and his own lips flicked up in an answering grin before he fell back to his usual expression of barely contained misery.

The group settled in, though they gave Ghilan'nain a suspicious wide berth. Alun, of course, had been too large to join them in the camp, but being made of stone he lay quietly outside and settled to wait out the storm without any sign of concern. For her part the goddess sat daintily and said little. She watched everyone with her dark, intense eyes as the group set about preparing dinner.

The friends remained quiet, speaking only when necessary. However, once bellies were full and everyone was warmed by the fire, a low chatter began. Astlyr smiled. It was a rare thing indeed for her crew not to banter. A general amiability prevailed. Once these people had been distrustful of one another. There were still pricklings with some. She thought of Blackwall and Vivienne. Both still a touch distrustful. Or how Cas had once felt that Dorian was nothing but a self involved dandy until he had proved otherwise to her again and again. Astlyr could not hide a sad grimace as she thought of Sera.

Then Myfanwy spoke, a quiet, steady voice. Telling a story. Everyone immediately stopped chatting and sat down to listen as though this were the most natural thing in the world. She watched the fire dance as she related a tale, “the Dalish tell of how Ghilan'nain became a god. She was one of The People, like us...” she told of a cruel hunter, and a curse. Of an elvish maiden who sought fairness for all creatures and was blinded and bound for her trouble. How her faith was eventually rewarded with godhood. Then Myfany turned to Fen'Harel, her expression expectant, “is any of that true?”

Fen'Harel looked troubled. His shoulders hunched as he lost himself in a look of distant concentration. “There was a hunter, but he did not murder a hare...he...I can't remember,” he spoke in elvish and Myfanwy flinched, giving the others an apologetic look which told Astlyr that the god had just used some rather extreme profanity.

Astlyr couldn't help it, she looked to Cole. He was fast becoming her walking lie detector. The spirit boy's face was all but obscured by his hat, but he must have sensed her concern because he answered her unspoken question, “There are gaps. Piece torn out, ripped like flesh that won't scar over. Red and raw, bubbling with old blood. She took parts of me away and it will not heal.”

“So Mythal did steal pieces of your memory?” Astlyr questioned.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel said, miserable.

“Can we ask her ladyship over there?” Varric questioned, gesturing to Ghilan'nain, who was examining her portion of crusty bread, dried fruit and of cooked rabbit as though food were a foreign concept. Astlyr wondered if the woman was secretly craving fresh green grass.

Fen'Harel spoke to the goddess, who lifted her head to listen. She blinked lazily a few times, then answered shortly. Fen turned back to the group, “it was not a hare that made her enraged,” he said. “It was a spirit that the foolish hunter had attacked.”

“A spirit?” Cole raised his head, his wan face finally visible.

“Yes. I believe that in our time spirits were far more prevalent than they are now. She was rewarded for her kind actions towards them with her godhood.”

Cole shot Astlyr a sideways glance. She suspected the boy was already warming to this new deity. Any friend to spirits was a potential friend to Cole. Astlyr gave him a quick smile. She had to admit that Ghilan'nain was seeming more trustworthy by the hour.

A loud squawk sounded above Astlyr before she could ask for further details. She looked up to see two crows had decided to take shelter from the winter storm in the makeshift rafters. Her eyes caught a glint of red. “Messenger birds,” she stood, holding up her hand to the creatures. She gave four whistles, the notes that assured the birds that she was a friend.

The crows both came obediently to her arm and lighted there. One picked at a tunic button while the other preened itself. Astlyr reached for the little message tube attached to the button chewer's leg. It gave her hand a quick peck. “Ouch.” Astlyr withdrew her fingers as her friends chuckled.

“You forgot the second sequence,” Cassandra reminded Astlyr in an amused tone.

“Oh. Right,” Astlyr said, feeling stupid. She did not normally have much interaction with the feathery beasts. They were usually dealt with by the spies or Josephine, and the information they brought would be given to Astlyr later.

The qunari whistled again, hoping she had the notes right. When she reached for the message this time she was not bitten, though the crow still watched her with one piercing, yellow eye. She slid the tiny, rolled paper from the tube, turning to her friends. Varric caught her intention before the others and stepped up to take the note from her. He unrolled it carefully, squinting in the firelight. “It says: For the Inquisitor- Found.”

“Found?” Myfanwy cocked her head.

Astlyr understood, and by the dawning expression in Cassandra's face, so did she. The others caught on quickly. “Those mages,” said Cole, a coldness to his voice that made Astlyr shudder though she knew the spirit boy's wrath was not aimed at her. “Those mages who hurt people.”

“It seems we have located them,” Astlyr confirmed, taking the note from the second bird, just in case. Varric unrolled it, but it had the same message. “It seems we had best return to Skyhold. Judgment must be rendered, and soon.” She felt her heart tighten as if caught in someone's grip. What would she do with the mages? There would be an outcry for blood. Would she answer it? She tried to push these worries from her mind for the moment. “We'll stay here tonight. The storm is too severe to travel after dusk. Come the morrow, however, we ride out, no matter what the weather is doing.”

The group fell back into quite chatter. Astlyr sat with her knees up and her elbows resting on them, introspective. Cole came and plopped down beside her, long legs crossed. He whispered to her, “you never killed anyone.”

“What?” she asked, her own voice as quiet as his. “I've killed lots of people.”

“You've killed people who were attacking you or attacking your friends. You never killed anyone when you sat on the big chair.” he picked absently at a hole in his tunic as he spoke.

“I suppose you're right,” Astlyr agreed, thinking back to all the times she had sat in judgment. Even the man who had used time magic to show her a future in which her new friends were tortured and killed in horrible ways, had not met execution at her hand. He could be put to better use being studied and researched by one of Fereldan's largest magical colleges.

“You don't want them to think you're a monster,” Cole said, pulling at a loose thread until it snapped. His voice fell into its tumbling cadence as he read her pain. “They look up and see a monster on the throne. Horns and strength and they're afraid. They don't want me to be their chosen and they wonder if their god made a mistake, and I sit and contemplate their fate. If I murder them with my hands the people will see that they were right. They'll think I thirst for blood like the barbarians with horns that they tell of in the tales. Slaughter and laugh. Murder children and families. Blood on stone and my blade.”

“That's not the only reason I spared people,” Astlyr corrected him.

“Yes,” Cole nodded then, his nose wrinkling slightly as he reached deeper into her pain. Seeking something that was obviously buried below her insecurity at being qunari. “You like second chances,” he said, tilting his chin up to look her in the face. “People deserve second chances. Try again and be better. Even if they're evil they can do good again. They can't help anyone if they are dead, so keep them alive and make them atone. Let them atone,” he gave her a thin smile, then looked back down at his knees. He held his slender hands loosely in his lap. “Those mages can't atone. The people won't want them to. They'll want you to kill them.”

“I know,” Astlyr said, her chest tight. “I know.”

The night passed and the new day thankfully brought a break in the bad weather. The night's fresh snow mounded itself in the doorway of the chasm as Astlyr's group tried to leave their camp. Fortunately Alun was there to dig them out. He moved the snow with alarming speed and stood waiting, gigantic tail awag. He greeted Cole with a little yip of pleasure, and nuzzled Fen'Harel so hard that he knocked the elf over, much to the amusement of the group, even as Myfanwy hurried to help her god back to his feet and brush off the snow.

The wind on the ride back to Skyhold was biting. It had piled great drifts of snow in their path. Smoke plowed through most, muscular legs surging. Astlyr glanced at the grey, morose sky. She had sent the messenger crows back to Skyhold with a brief note indicating that she was on her way. She suspected that she would be expected to render judgment as soon as she reached the fortress and she braced herself as best she could. She could not shake the uneasily sinking of her stomach.

~~~~

Two days' ride saw the fortress before them, tall and proud. Astlyr had to send Cole teleporting up to the wall to inform the guards that the stone wolf traveling behind them was not a threat. She knew that arrows were aimed none the less, though such projectiles would do nothing to harm the creature. Alun situated himself outside the gate and settled into the snow as though perfectly willing and eager to play guard dog.

As Astlyr led her team down the long bridge to Skyhold's main gate and gave instructions. “Cassandra, please introduce our latest guest to the guards and ensure that they understand that she is to be watched, as Fen'Harel was. One mage and one templar.” Cassandra was no doubt interested to hear the judgment against the terrorist mages, but duty would come first at all times.

“Does this mean I shall no longer be under scrutiny?” Fen'Harel asked.

“I've decided to trust you, for better or worse,” Astlyr sighed.

“For that I thank you,” the elf dipped his head to her.

“Don't make me regret it,” she growled, already feeling all her muscles tense. She could sense the guards watching her, already eager to find what her judgment would be. “Myfanwy, will you accompany them?”

“Of course,” the elf nodded. Everyone dismounted in the courtyard, stable hands waiting and ready to take their horses.

Guard Captain Jones hurried up to greet them. She now wore better armor and an expression that Astlyr assumed was supposed to be authority. She felt her mouth twitch with slight amusement. Jones was too good natured to make a natural leader. Her round face was bright and friendly. “Good to see you back, ma'am.”

“Good to be back. We have a new guest,” she gestured to Ghilan'nain who was taking in the fortress with wide eyes. “This is Lady Ghilan. You are to treat her with the utmost respect. She does not speak our language, and she aided us greatly in our quest.”

Jones knew better than to asked for details. Guards were not privy to the comings and goings of Skyhold's inquisitor. They merely had to trust that when she went out to adventure it was with good reason. Astlyr carefully elected not to mention how many times her 'adventures' entailed rounding up stray pets or locating someone's errant mother. She had even stumbled in on more than one romantic interlude, which she would not be proud to admit. “Yes ma'am,” Jones was saying, saluting smartly. “This way if you please, my lady,” she gestured. Myfanwy and Cassandra moved off with Jones and Ghilan'nain.

“Do you wish to accompany them?” Astlyr questioned Fen'Harel.

“I think I had better,” Fen'Harel nodded, following the small group. “I do not wish her to be confused and afraid.”

Astlyr winced inwardly, wondering what a frightened goddess might do to her beloved Skyhold. She glanced at the mage tower. Repairs were clearly underway. Scaffolding stood out at various points around the outside. Most of the largest holes in the stone had been patched neatly back into place. Astlyr wondered how the inside was coming. There had been far more internal damage. She did not have time to ponder this long, as Cullen strode towards her. “Astlyr...Inquisitor,” he corrected himself, remembering the severity of the situation. “The Chargers returned three days ago with the fugitive mages.”

“Iron Bull found them? Do they still have all their limbs?” Astlyr questioned, moving to walk with the templar towards the stronghold.

“By some miracle they are still intact. Though they do look a bit worse for the experience.” Cullen explained as he led the way at a brisk pace.

“Have the mages said anything in their defense?” she asked, adjusting her stride so she would not overtake Cullen.

“Very little, aside from occasionally ranting about how foolish we all are for following the insane leaders who would destroy their circles.”

“Lovely,” Astlyr rolled her eyes.

She was aware of what remained of her party following her. She was certain that they were all curious what judgment she would bring to bear on the people who had attacked their home. Astlyr was curious as well. Her mind churned with a thousand possible answers, but none of them seemed right. Her thoughts always swung back around to an image of herself, sword raised to separate a head from a body. There was always Tranquility, but the notion made her sick. Though she had never experienced the fear of the rite herself, she knew how it terrified the mages. How each one lived in terror of the punishment. Tranquility was a relic of a time best forgotten, though still painfully fresh in everyone's memories.

As she marched into the main hall she saw that people were already beginning to gather. Word must have gotten around that she had returned as soon as the guards on the wall had spied her. Cullen looked a bit apologetic, “They've talked of nothing but your return since the mages were brought in.” he admitted.

“Good to see you, Inquisitor,” Josephine called, waving her feather quill in a cheery greeting. She seemed to be in surprisingly excellent spirits as she hurried up to join the group.

Astlyr shot a quizzical look at Cullen and he gave her a quick smile. “Blackwall returned while you were gone as well and he...had a conversation with Lady Josephine.”

“I see,” Astlyr raised her eyebrows expressively. Cole looked ready to clarify the situation and Astlyr shot him a deadly glance. The diplomat would not thank the spirit boy for blabbing her personal life in front of a gathering crowd.

“I had best fetch our prisoners,” Cullen said, turning to go.

“Bring the templar, Titus, as well,” Astlyr instructed, watching Dorian out of the corner of her eye. She felt a bit guilty passing judgment on the man while her mage friend was present, but it only seemed logical to deal with the lot of the prisoners all at once. Cullen snapped a smart salute and moved off through the crowd, heading for the passage down to the dungeons.

Astlyr stepped onto the dais feeling in the that moment as though someone had laid a thick yoke across her neck. She was still wearing her armor. This was intentional. She wanted to look her most powerful before the three people she was about to judge. She swept a few stray hairs back out of her face, standing tall. She could tell by the ripple of talk that rushed through the gathering that she cut an impressive figure. Even Josie's eyes widened. It was not every day a fully armored qunari stood in that place, especially with Astlyr avoiding the throne as often as possible. She considered sitting, perhaps taking up a careless slouch, but decided standing was more intimidating in that moment.

The prisoners were led in, the three bedraggled mages flanked by stern templars. Titus brought up the rear, accompanied by Cullen himself. The prisoners were lined up side by side before Astlyr. A hush fell over the room and Astlyr felt her skin prickle with sweat. She fought to keep herself together. Glancing at the crowd she saw her inner circle standing at the front with Blackwall, Iron Bull and his Chargers. Cole was watching her intently and she felt a bit better. For a moment her eyes sought and met Cullen's. They seemed a striking gold color at this distance and he met her gaze with a confident steadiness that she valued more than any hand to hold. She shifted, cleared her throat and spoke. The command in her voice surprised even her.

“You four stand here accused of conspiring to attack Skyhold's mage tower, and of the death of five youths who were inside the tower at the time of the attack. Do you have anything to say for yourselves before I render judgment?”

For a long moment the mages said nothing. Titus was the one who spoke first, his voice surprisingly firm, though he was shaking visibly. Without his templar armor he looked all the more like a simple country lad. “For my part in this attack I am truly, truly sorry. I stand ready to face whatever judgment the Inquisitor might bestow upon me with a willingness to accept my actions.” He straightened, shoulders square, and Astlyr saw a hint of what Dorian might see in the man. Astlyr could not help but picture Blackwall, shackled and broken, standing before her and asking for his judgment. 'You forgive them,' Cole's voice echoed in her thoughts.

“Titus, as a templar it was your duty to watch over these mages, but also your sacred vow not to allow them to harm others. You may not have aided them in their attack, but you are culpable for failing to come forward and inform us of their intentions.” Titus met her eyes, his jaw set. She suspected he had been mentally preparing for this for some time. Astlyr glanced at Dorian and saw him watching not her, but Titus with a grim expression on his face. Her voice echoed through the hall again. “It is my judgment that you shall serve the rest of your days here, under the command of Cullen and the other templars. You will be stripped of any rank you may hold and will be re-trained in your duties. You will swear you life to the protection of the mages of Skyhold. If such a time should come that you should lay down your life for them, you will do so.”

“Yes ma'am,” Titus answered a little uncertainly. Obviously he was not sure how to best respond to the judgment he had clearly not expected. “Thank you, Madam Inquisitor.”

Astlyr gauged the crowd. Josephine wasn't whispering urgently in her ear, so she knew she must not be doing too badly. She looked over the three mages, forced to kneel before the dais by their templar guards. For their part the men and women of Skyhold's templar ranks looked utterly disgusted with the three. 

The eldest of the three mages was shooting a scathing glance towards Titus. Her lip curled in obvious disgust. “Templars were loyal once,” she spat. “Do you see what happens when circles are broken? When templars forget their duty? You should never have betrayed us, Titus.”

A few shouts when up from the crowd. “My son was in that tower, you bitch!”

“How dare you attack your fellow mages!”

“You will pay for what you did to our home!”

“You're all fools and idiots!” squawked the other female mage, trying to rise and being forced back down by the templars who held her. “The circles were flawed, of course, but they were better than this chaos! The chantry in shambles, mages forgetting their place! You follow a demon whose people cut out the tongues of mages and sew their mouths shut! Where will this all lead? A lesson must be taught!”

More enraged shouting from the crowd.

Astlyr raised a hand and was pleasantly surprised when everyone fell silent. She bit her tongue. Her mind raced. She should speak. Render judgment. She could feel everyone in the hall leaning forward, ready for her verdict. Did they all wish her to kill these three mages? Did some still wish to see their merciful inquisitor again? She spoke her thoughts aloud, “I have never executed anyone in my time as your Inquisitor. I would rather not begin now,” there were a few dissenting shouts, but they were quieted hastily. “I cannot imprison these three as to do so would draw valuable manpower from our already limited templar ranks. I will not ask for these mages to be made tranquil, nor will I ever support tranquility here at Skyhold.” More muttering, though some sounded pleased this time.

Astlyr hesitated again and felt something pushing at the back of her mind. Her hand prickled. Whether she knew it or not she had decided somewhere deep inside of herself. “For your crimes against Skyhold and Fereldan; Kes, Devon and Winter, you are hereby sentenced to banishment.” An uproar began then.

“You can't let them go!”

“They'll only find a way to hurt others!”

“What are you doing, Inquisitor?!”

The noise grew louder and Astlyr raised her left hand, but not for silence. Instead she dug her fingers into the veil. She brought her elbow back, as one drawing a bowstring, and the Fade tore open like a raw wound. There was gasp from the crowd as green light bathed them. An eery wind whipped through the hall, moving towards the tear and seemingly without source. It ruffled hair and cloaks and a few people made concerned noises. Astlyr did not stop to look at the faces of her friends. She would deal with their feelings on her judgment when the time came. “I banish you to the Fade, to live out whatever meager lives you may have left therein.”

All three mages stared completely agape, rendered dumbstruck as they took in the Fade tear. The edges of the rift rippled like the teeth of an angry monster. The hall was utterly silent, as if a spell had been laid over them. The templar guards did not move a muscle until Astlyr strode down to them and wrapped her hand around the dark haired mage's upper arm. “Remove their shackles.”

One of the templars seemed to remember himself and hurriedly unlocked the cuffs around each mage's wrists and ankles. Then Astlyr guided the first of the three to the waiting rift. It hovered slightly off the floor, so the woman would have to step up to get inside. Her face was ashen and she shook violently. She looked ready to be sick, or pass out, or both. Astlyr practically picked the woman up, ushering her inside. “You had best hurry. The rift will attract demons and you want to be well on your way before any of those show up.” The mage gave a frightened squeak and dashed away into the green and black world of the Fade, splashing through shallow water without waiting for her companions.

“Alright. In you go,” Astlyr said, ushering the remaining two forward.

The other woman, (Kes, was it?) turned to Astlyr with a pleading expression. “Please, no! We'll die!”

“You may live,” Astlyr said, coldly. “I did. Just mind the giant spiders.” She gave Kes a firm shove and the woman tumbled into the Fade with a cry. The young man followed almost willingly, as though he knew his 'friend' would leave him behind if he did not keep up.

Once all three were inside the Fade Astlyr raised her left hand again. Her mark blazed and pain surged through her arm to her shoulder. She gritted her teeth. It was a familiar feeling, the hunger to close the rift. The feeling of her mark calling for action. She curled her fist around the anchor and with a practiced jerk the rift was closed again as though it had never been. Everyone blinked as the green glow faded in an instant and the room seemed suddenly dark, in spite of the many torches and the light of the setting sun through the tall windows behind the throne.

No one spoke for a long moment. Astlyr might have heard a mouse's footsteps. It was as if everyone had forgotten to breathe. It was Josie who finally broke the silence. “Your Inquisitor has rendered her judgment.” Her voice was dominant, certain.

It was as if her words broke the spell that lay over them all. People began talking to one another, some were already moving to go about their business. A few shouted towards Astlyr, but they did not seem committed enough in their opinion to come and speak to her. Astlyr's inner circle did, however. Vivienne broke away from the mages she had been standing with and joined Asltyr on the dais, “Well, that was certainly an interesting solution, darling.”

Astlyr scanned the faces of her friends as they moved to stand with her. “Alright, I know you all have opinions. Just come out with them and be honest with me,” she urged them.

“That was....”Dorian seemed flummoxed, “not what I expected. I suppose I don't know what I expected.”

“I think you made one of the few choices you could have,” Blackwall approved, his eyes drifting over the space where the rift had been.

“You sent them to the Fade,” Cole's voice was very quiet.

“Cole?” Astlyr felt her skin go cold again. “Are you alright?”

“I...I don't know. I don't-” he wouldn't look at her and Astlyr's heart lurched as though she had jumped from the wall-top again.

“It's alright, Cole,” Iron Bull spoke up, planting a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder, which sagged under the weight of it. “I think she made the right call, and one that only she could make.”

“I do not know,” Vivienne admitted, “if it was indeed the best decision. However, it has been made and we must all come to terms with it if we trust our inquisitor, as I am certain we all do.”

“It was certainly unique,” Josephine said.

Astlyr was still watching Cole. His face was hidden by his hat again and she longed to just pull it off so she could see. It felt so unfair that he could sense her pain, but she could only guess at his. “Cole?” she asked, cautiously.

“I need some time to think,” the boy said. “Don't worry, Astlyr. I won't fade, I just...want to think.”

“Alright,” Astlyr answered, her throat tight. “I understand.”

Cole teleported away. Bull shook the hand which had been resting on the boy's shoulder, then jammed it under his arm to warm it. “He'll be fine, boss. He just needs to process this. I think all of Skyhold needs to. Personally I like the idea. No one will be eager to mess with us if they know we can banish people to the Fade.”

Astlyr was already feeling deeply uncertain. In the moment her choice had seemed like the only one she could have made, but now her mind fluttered with a thousand busy doubts and fears. Perhaps she should have imprisoned the mages, manpower issues be damned. Maybe in this one case tranquility would have been the best option. In her mind's eye she saw herself again raising a sword over the neck of one of the mages. Her stomach gave a lurch. If she wasn't so concerned about her image, would she have killed them? Watched their heads roll into waiting baskets without a care? Would she put the severed heads on spikes and mount them on the walls as a warning to others?

The path she had chosen would certainly spark much debate. Perhaps the queen would think twice before offering her any more titles. What if the people saw a different kind of monster? One that could throw open the Fade on a whim and cast unfortunates in? She felt a creeping cold rush through her and she tried her best to shake it as her friends gathered around her. Then a voice spoke near her ear and it took her buzzing mind a moment to realize it was Dorian. “Thank you.” he said.

She turned to her mage friend, who was standing close at her shoulder. His dark eyes were expressive. “Dorian?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Thank you. For sparing Titus.”

“He didn't deserve the same punishment,” she said, shaking her head fractionally as she thought of the young man, so ready to face a worse fate than she had for him.

“He had expressed to me that if you did spare him, he would like to give up lyrium, as Cullen has, so that no one could ever control him with it again,” Dorian said. “Would that be permissible?”

“Yes,” Astlyr managed a thin smile, “as long as he is still able to serve the mages, I could never asked a man to continue an addiction he wishes to be rid of.” Though Cullen had left with Titus to install him in the templar quarters Astlyr's mind's eye pictured the man, standing tall in the face of his own withdrawal. “Though he must understand that it can be extremely dangerous.”

“He will be watched over,” Dorian assured her. “He will want to fulfill his duty to Skyhold, and should it seem that the lack of lyrium will kill him, he will take it again.”

“Alright,” Astlyr nodded to her friend, giving his upper arm a squeeze. “Take good care of him, and be certain to let me know if you need anything. Use Cullen as a resource if you have any questions.” She knew without asking that the commander would desire to aid the young templar in his endeavor. Dorian nodded, giving her a thin smile, he moved off.

Though her friends were still talking, mostly to one another, Astlyr extricated herself from the group. She headed for the nearest route to the wall to get some fresh air. She had no idea someone had followed her until he spoke. “I think I'm with the Iron Lady on this one, Pointy. That was pretty original.”

“Varric! Maker's balls, you startled me.” Astlyr gasped, turning to her friend. She had just opened the door to the wall and stepped out into the frigid dusk.

The dwarf flashed a winning smile and came to stand beside her, looking out over the landscape, as best he could at his height. He scanned the sky, squinting. Astlyr noticed how weathered his features were. The face of one who had seen more than he should have in his time. Lines creased around his eyes, though she knew they were forged by laughter. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“I don't think there was a right thing,” Varric admitted. “Looks like that storm followed us from the Graves,” he pointed with a gloved hand towards the mountains where ominous clouds were gathering, looking ready to pounce.

“Damn,” Astlyr sighed.

“Look, you made a call, and I think you'll find all of Skyhold willing to follow it. Some more than others. I'm a little interested to see what the Seeker thinks of all this, but yeah, you made a call and it got the job done. Hawke would have done the same. You can't make everyone happy.”

Astlyr leaned against the edge of the lower portion of the ramparts feeling the icy breeze at her back. “How have you been Varric?” she asked, realizing she had not been alone with her dwarvish friend in some time.

“Holding up,” the dwarf said, catching her meaning. He'd been more fragile after his best friend, Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, had gone to his death in the Fade. “I miss him of course. We had the best banter, and there were so many details I wanted to ask him so I could get them right for the book.”

“I'm sorry,” Astlyr said, rubbing her eyes wearily.

“You made a call. It's your job,” Varric said with a shrug. “And you didn't shy from it. Other people might have avoided me for a while after that, but you came right to me to make certain I was alright. You lead, and you accept your actions as leader, even if they might not be the right ones.”

Astlyr didn't need to ask to know that Varric still felt that she should have left the grey warden in the Fade instead, even as he understood why she had not. If it had been possible Astlyr herself would have remained. Sometimes she still wished there had been a way. Let someone else lead Skyhold. They'd do a better job. She tilted her head back, taking in the darkening sky. Strands of deep purple, like magic, etched their way towards the sun, which seemed to retreat sleepily. “I suppose you're right, Varric. I made a call, we have to live with it. But I'm glad I have people like you around me. I truly am,” he looked back down at him and met his eyes firmly.

“Don't get all mushy on me, Pointy. You don't want me putting that in your book, do you?” Varric chuckled as he smiled warmly. “People will find out that you're really just a big kitten with horns and then your whole reputation goes right out the window.”

Astlyr laughed. “Wouldn't want that.”

The two friends stood for a long while, watching the night creep over Skyhold and the storm move in to wrap everything in another blanket of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're keeping track that's:  
> Vivienne Slightly Approves.  
> Cole Disapproves  
> Iron Bull Greatly Approves  
> Varric Slightly Approves  
> Dorian Approves (mostly about Titus)  
> Blackwall Slightly Approves
> 
> Yes, it's true, my big bad qunari Inquisitor never executed anyone in game! Granted, I did kill and reload because I wanted to see what would happen, but in the real playthrough she was a very non-murdery type. I felt like it fit better with the personality she was fast developing.
> 
> How about it? Did your Inquisitor execute anyone? If so, who?
> 
> Also, because we have crap internet out where I live I was not able to play through Astlyr's run with my world-state, so I ended up with Bro-Hawke who was really annoying and basically just talking about how awesome he was all the time. So yeah. I let the Fade have him. Plus it handily made more sense because I needed a good leader for my new Grey Wardens ;)
> 
> Man I wish I could share next chapter with you nooooow! I think you're going to love it. I get back to the job of tweaking the lore to my liking (mwahaha)! Sadly it is not quite ready for publication yet (still tweaking) so next week. Next fucking week everyone! *Hype hype*
> 
> As always, don't be afraid to comment. I love and treasure each one like I am some kind of comment collecting raven!
> 
> Next chapter: 4/30/15


	22. What Once was Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Astlyr came up with a very original judgment for some very unpleasant mages. Most of her people even thought it wasn't a bad idea.
> 
> I've been excited to share this chapter for ages! *Dances* I hope you all like it. If you don't...break it to me gently LOL. I get my grubby fingers all up in the lore again. You've been warned!

Chapter 22  
What Once was Lost

Aslyr couldn't sleep. Her rooms seemed wrong somehow. Perhaps after all the days of camping, a soft bed felt like a lie. She pondered sleeping on the floor by the hearth but changed her mind. Instead she climbed out of bed and put on her tunic and boots. She wrapped her thick cloak about herself and made for the kitchens.

There was some activity amongst the heat of the ovens and clattering pots and pans, though not much. The baking would not begin until the wee hours of the morning. For now the remaining kitchen staff cleaned and chatted, sometimes stopping work all together to play a hand of cards. When she walked into the room everyone jumped. The elf with the crooked teeth stepped timidly forward, “Ma'am?”

“Do you have any carrots or apples? If not a few cubes of sugar will do,” Astlyr said, giving everyone a reassuring smile to try to settle them.

“We have a few carrots and apples in the cellar. In this season they look a bit...sad,” admitted the elf with a shy smile.

“Hmmmm, perhaps the sugar then. I'd hate to deprive anyone of the few remaining fruit and veg.”

“Right away, ma'am,” said the elf, bobbing a quick bow and grinning. He darted to a nearby canister and selected a handful of sugar cubes. “Going to the stable, ma'am.”

“You know me too well already,” she said as she took the sugar.

The elf beamed at this, obviously thrilled that he had guessed her cause. He would be telling the other kitchen helpers about this, she knew. It was odd to be the object of such adoration, when throughout much of her life her presence had been greeted with shouts and people fleeing, or worse, attacking. “Thank you,” she said, raising her filled hand to them as she departed. Already she could hear the buzz of their talking begin again. What a thrilling night. A visit from the inquisitor. They must not have gotten word of her judgment that day. Was it possible they had and they did not care?

Outside it snowed heavily. She knew a wind blew high above the walls, for she could see the flags whipping wildly as if trying for freedom. She crossed the short distance between the keep and the stable, picking her way around drifts forming against the walls. Fortunately the kitchens had a door that came up right near where the horses were kept.

Astlyr reached the stables and found that, unlike with the kitchens, almost everyone here was asleep. The lad who had been set to watch for the night was curled up on a bale of hay, mouth slightly agape in slumber. Astlyr found a wool blanket hanging on a chair and spread it over the boy. Then she quietly went after the brushes she would need.

Smoke was not asleep, but sifting through his bedding with his lip to seek out anything that remained of his dinner. He raised his head when he heard her coming and made a low rumble of a greeting. Astlyr breathed in the heady smell of horse. It was warm on this end of the stables. She could hear the gentle sound of the big animals moving in their stalls. Every now and then they would make small sounds to one another. It was immensely reassuring just to stand in the company of such creatures.

She let herself into Smoke's stall and he butted her with his head immediately, ears forward, nostrils flared. “Rude,” she scolded him, but fed him a sugar cube none the less. “I'm sorry it's not apples. We're running low.” The horse little minded that his favorite food was not being offered, as his second favorite would do well enough. He ran his thick lip over her hand in a tickling, sweeping motion and she enjoyed the feel of his velvety muzzle. His hot breath ghosted over her hand and wrist.

She left the rest of the sugar outside his stall for later and set about giving him a brushing. It was unnecessary, as the stable hands had cleaned him well when he had come back from questing, but she enjoyed doing it and Smoke certainly did not mind. She knew his thick winter coat could be itchy.

She let her thoughts drift. Let her concerns float away for the moment. She sighed, taking in the odor of hay and horse. Even the manure smell was reassuring. She spoke to Smoke in a hushed voice. One ear swiveled around to listen. “When I was little my father got me a pony. He said no daughter of his was going to grow up not knowing how to ride. It was a shaggy little thing, and willful as they come. Mostly I sat on its back and it went where ever it liked. I was just along for the ride.”

Smoke swung his big head around and lipped her shoulder as though inquiring why he was not allowed the same arrangement. She petted his face. “Eventually I outgrew that pony. Father sold it to help afford a full sized horse. Mother's old mare had finally died and the family needed one for the plowing, and then I could learn to ride him. He was a heavy horse, like you. Father named him Maximus. He was not nearly as willful as my pony, but Maker was he ever lazy.”

Smoke snorted and she imagined he was expressing displeasure at such a vice in a horse. “Well,” Astlyr pointed out, moving around Smoke to brush his other side. “He wasn't as fine as you, now was we? He was a plow horse, not a war horse.” Smoke huffed again, then sneezed. Astlyr laughed, though quietly. “I was a little sad to see that pony go. I knew it didn't even like me, really. I was a nuisance, but I missed our rambles together, when I would hold on and the wee thing would take me all over.”

“Your father was worried you wouldn't come back.”

Astlyr jumped, head snapping up from her task. Cole was leaning against the stall door, arms resting over the top and chin against the wood. He watched her with his spectral eyes. She wondered how long he had been there. She supposed that he still had the ability to make himself unseen, though he did not use it much any more. His expression was placid as he watched her brush. “Are you alright, Cole?” she asked.

The boy ignored her question. “When you're finished here will you come with me?”

“Of course,” she said, without even bothering ask where. “I'm almost done.”

“You don't need to hurry,” Cole said, still leaning against the stall. His posture seemed relaxed. “I like night sometimes. People have bad dreams, but their pain isn't as loud. Muted by sleep, dreams that don't matter. Anxiety works itself free like a baby tooth. They don't need my help.”

“But you love helping,” Astlyr pointed out.

“Only if they need me. When they don't need me I don't help,” Cole shrugged. Then he moved away, almost as though he did not realize he was doing it. He touched a hand to the forehead of the slumbering stable boy. Then he looked up, sheepishly. “He was dreaming that he had made a mistake and all the horses had gotten free. I gave him a better dream.”

“I thought he didn't need your help,” Astlyr tried to contain her smile.

Cole's lips twitched in a wan grin of his own. “I'm not always the best at not helping.” He watched then as Astlyr fed Smoke another sugar cube. She passed one towards the boy, who offered it to the horse. Smoke plucked it gingerly from Cole's hand and the spirit boy sighed with pleasure. “I like horses. Their minds are...pure. They have quick pain that passes. Smoke's thoughts are steady, standing stalwart. Watch over, protect, love.”

Astlyr smiled and gave her horse's thick neck and firm pat. “He is a good horse. Couldn't ask for better. Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Come with me?” Cole asked again, angling his body to indicate they were going out of the other stable doors. The ones near the back where they used to take the slop.

“Alright,” Astlyr said, guessing where they were going, but uncertain why. She put away the brushes and gave Smoke a few more treats before she shrugged her cloak around her more tightly and went with her friend. She watched the boy walk with her instead of teleporting ahead. He seemed contemplative. “Are you alright, Cole?”

“The people forgive you when they don't agree with you,” he said, hands before him, slim fingers twisting as he reached for the minds of others. “Even those who thought you were wrong to send those mages into the Fade, they talk about you, complain sometimes, but they always forgive. They see the good outweighs what they don't like.”

Astlyr felt a weight lift from her shoulders, knowing Cole had chosen his words for just such a reason. “Thank goodness for that. I hope I don't have to keep testing their ability for forgive,” she muttered. “I have a feeling there are going to be more, larger things for them to disagree with soon enough.”

“Like elf gods,” Cole said. It wasn't a question.

“Yes,” Astlyr sighed.

She had been correct about their destination. Down they stepped into the dark of the elven temple behind the stables. It was black as pitch and Astlyr faltered. No Fen'Harel to make a light with his magic. Then she felt cold fingers entwine with hers. Cole led her as carefully as one might lead a child. Guiding her skillfully he told her how many steps there were and when to duck her head because of a bit of stone would have struck her horns. She heard their footsteps echoing across the great room. In her mind's eye she could see the beautiful elvhen art. She wondered if any of Skyhold's elves had come down to leave offerings or pray to their gods. What would those people do if they found that some of those gods walked amongst them now? She shuddered. She did not think they were ready for that information yet. The time would come, but the time was not now. She had seen how people had reacted to her, and she wasn't even a real Herald. No goddess had chosen her, yet the mere notion had sent the church into an uproar. People falling at her feet in adoration she did not desire or deserve.

Cole stopped. Astlyr could see faintly now. Her superior qunari night vision was coming through for her. Still, she did not let go of Cole. She didn't need him forgetting himself and teleporting away without her. She could make out the pale glimmer of gold on the wall and guessed they must be standing before one of the paintings, but she had no idea which. Cole finally spoke, “I came down here to think after...”

“After I sent those people to the Fade?”

“Yes.”

“Are you upset with me for that?” she asked, nervous. She could not recall ever having Cole angry with her. Certainly other things and bothered him, but he always seemed willing to go along with her decisions.

“Maybe,” he said, and she felt his cool fingers tighten fractionally as he stood beside her, seemingly gazing at the mural she could not see. “I don't know. I wasn't happy. You sent those people, the ones who hurt others, into a place that will hurt them, and I should feel happy. Lots of people feel happy. They think that those mages should be tortured by demons and lost forever.”

“You don't?”

“I don't know,” Cole said, how voice hushed, though it still echoed. “I...I can't decide. You sent them into my home...my old home.”

Astlyr touched the wall, feeling the slightly raised texture of the paint. It did not flake away beneath her touch. A testament to elvish technique. “I think I understand. Even though you have not been back to the Fade in a long time, you still think of it as your home. I just sent three murderers into your home.” She looked down towards him again, just able to make out his shape in the gloom.

“The Fade isn't my home any more,” Cole mumbled. “I belong in Skyhold now. With the people of Skyhold. I don't even want to go back to the Fade, so I don't understand why I'm unhappy with you.”

“It's alright, Cole,” Astlyr said, taking her turn to give his hand a squeeze, wishing that she could warm it, but his skin remained as cool as ever. “You don't always have to be happy with me. No one is. You know that because you can sense it.”

“Like when you let me stay here. You made Vivienne angry with you. She stopped being angry. She forgave you.”

“You forgave that templar that hurt Cole,” Astlyr risked something. The boy had seemingly made himself forget the situation after he let the templar go. She had long wondered if he had truly released the memory, or if part of it still lingered.

Cole did not answer her. Instead he moved again and she followed, still being led by the hand. “Why did you want me to come down here, Cole?”

“I came to visit the Fade,” the boy admitted.

“You did?” she put out her free hand to let her fingertips brush along the wall as they walked. “Cole...do you regret remaining a spirit? Varric seemed to think that you could become more human, but I wasn't certain that would make you happy. Did I make the right choice?”

Cole stopped and she felt him turn to face her. She could just make out his pale eyes, twin orbs of dusky blue in the darkness. “I don't know if I could have been more human. I like being a spirit. It is...frightening sometimes, but you and the others are always here so the fear fades fast. If I was human I don't think I could help others as well. Varric was afraid that as a spirit I would be stuck, stranded, never the same. He wanted me to fit. To match.”

“I'm glad you don't match,” Astlyr said, firmly.

She saw a flash of his teeth in the dark, “I am too. It's better not to be the same. And Varric was wrong. Spirits can change.”

“They can?” Astlyr tilted her head.

“Yes. I learned. I finally learned what has been happening to me.”

“You have!” Astlyr felt her whole being lighten. “Cole, that's great! How? What did you find out?”

“I wanted to show you. We have to go into the Fade.” The boy sat down, pulling her arm with him. He might have jerked her shoulder had she not quickly folded her legs to plop down beside him. It was a little jarring for her spine, but she ignored this, a warm joy rushing through her. Had Cole really found the answer? Could they truly be close to finding out what had been confusing her spirit friend so much for the past month. He finally let her hand go and it felt strange to be free of it, though it had left a chill in her fingers. “Can you fall asleep?” he asked.

“I can try,” Astlyr said, resting her back against the wall. Falling asleep was not as easy as she might have liked. Her mind was buzzing. Busily wondering what discovery Cole might have made. Quieting her racing thoughts had always been a challenge for her, but now it was particularly difficult. 

Then she felt Cole reach across to her and touch her wrist, delicately. “Forget,”

She felt the busyness fade, “what did you take?” she asked, urgently.

“There were butterflies loose in your mind. I put them in a net. They're still there, but captured, corralled so you can concentrate. Was that alright?” he asked as though it had only just occurred to him that his interference might not have been welcome.

“No, that's alright, Cole. Just please ask next time.” Astlyr felt his fingers lift from her skin and she settled back against the wall. Whatever Cole had done it made her mind easier. She managed to drift off, though she idly wondered if it might not have been simpler to open a rift and step into the Fade in person.

~~~~~

The Fade temple was as beautiful as she remembered. The living pillars stretched towards an unseen ceiling. Astyr looked about herself, wondering if she might see the memories walking around, as she had the last time. Instead she saw only Cole, in his Fade form. He smiled at her and she felt a rush of physical warmth. “Alright, what did you want to show me?” she asked.

“She will show you,” Cole pointed upwards. The golden spider spirit peered down at them with her many eyes. She was sitting in a corner of her massive, glittering web, her long legs spread around her. Carefully the spirit crept down the web, never taking her eery gaze from Astlyr. “She was hoping you would come back,” Cole said, smiling up at the creature.

“Was she?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow, uneasy. “Why? Why would she come to me, or you for that matter? I understand why she might come to Fen'Harel. He's a god and a known friend to spirits.”

“She felt us. You have the anchor, you glow, and I am...more.”

“More?” Astlyr watched the boy, so alive and vibrant in the Fade-light.

“Please show her what you showed me,” Cole requested of the golden spider. “She keeps all the memories, the history of Skyhold. She has been here, watching, learning, peering through the veil.”

The spider carefully selected one of the golden threads of her web and plucked it with a skillful motion. As the thread vibrated, the world before Astlyr's eyes swam like water disturbed by a pebble. It made her a little nauseated as everything wavered and spun. She blinked and felt a jab of pain in her hand. She glanced down at it. At least her body seemed intact, no sign of her own image rippling with the fade magic, even as it pulsed over her again and again. She saw the glow of green on her palm and tried to ignore the sting.

Finally the world settled, but to her surprise she and Cole no longer stood in the towering temple. Instead they seemed to have transported to a mountaintop in summer, lightly dusted with snow. Everything still had a pervasive greenish hue which did not seem wholly natural so Astlyr knew they were still in the Fade. She glanced around. Above them the spider seemed to settle on a now invisible web. She watched with her many, unblinking eyes. There was no hostility in her posture so Astlyr turned her attention back to the new locale. “What is this place?” she asked peering around. Her eyes caught on a peak not far off. It looked extremely familiar, like a mountaintop she could see from her bedroom.

“We're at Skyhold,” said Cole, moving about, investigating a rock or two, touching some moss growing under the thin sheen of freshly settled snow. “Skyhold before it was Skyhold. Before it had a name, I think.”

“We're in the past?”

“We're in the Fade.”

Astlyr clucked her tongue with some annoyance but decided not to question further. It was obvious she would get no answers from the silent spider spirit and what she could gather from Cole would be cryptic at best. “The last time we visited this spirit she showed us the little girl marking the map to the foci,” Astlyr was struck by a sudden thought. Had the elvish child in the spider's memory been Fen'Harel himself? Hiding in an inconspicuous form so he could leave himself a map for later? She turned to the spider, wondering if it could at least nod or shake its head. Before she could speak a sound caught her attention. A rolling, uneven laugh. The laugh of a child.

Soon the laughter was joined by more and before Astlyr's eyes a whole gang of elvish children came scampering over a rise. They talked loudly and shrieked with pleasure, obviously having a lovely time. They appeared to range in age from about six to perhaps sixteen, if she was any judge of ancient elvish ages. She stepped a bit nearer and it was obvious none of the children saw her or Cole, who had crouched on a rock, watching the scene with rapt interest. Astlyr studied the happy group further and noticed that a thin string of magic seemed to run between the younger ones, looping around each waist, then leading back to another person, who had just come into view. An elvish man, tall and placid. He had dark hair with a hint of silver, which Astlyr was not entirely certain was caused by age. His face was angular, dignified and intelligent looking. He had the air of a scholar. She noted, as she watched the man, that he was of average height for a human male.

The magical string, which held the little ones like flower stems, led back to the top of the staff the man carried. Once the group had achieved the flat summit the elder tapped his staff once and the magical strings dissipated. He spoke to the children in a stern tone and Astlyr was surprised that she could understand him. “Alright everyone, please spread your cloaks and sit down. The lesson will begin as soon as you are settled. Should any of you misbehave and wander off I will place the safety bindings back on all of you.” His tone was warning and a general groan went up from the group, but the children complied.

“They speak common?” Astlyr questioned. “I thought this was a very old memory.”

“It is,” said Cole, sitting down on his rock as though obeying the teacher's instruction himself. “The spirit makes it so we can understand. She wants you to know.”

“Know what?” Astlyr watched as the children found spots to sit, with varying degrees of haste. One young lad with red hair in tight curls seemed intent on seeing how far he could get from the group without being admonished. A stern look from the teacher finally sent the the youngster hurrying to find a spot.

The older children sat together, giving annoyed and disdainful looks to the younger, though they made no verbal complaint. Astlyr noticed that a few of the teens wore staffs across their shoulders, obviously mages.

“Watch,” urged Cole, in answer to her question. He had an almost gleeful expression on his face. Astlyr could safely say she had never seen the boy looking so pleased, not even in their recent visits to the Fade. Astlyr resigned herself and went to sit on the ground beside Cole's rock. She curled her legs to sit in the lotus position, as some of the children were doing.

“Alright children, may I have you focus please? Yes? Liliwen, please put down that snowball, there's a good girl. Alright? Everyone focusing?”

“Yes, sir,” the group managed to chorus.

“Excellent. Alright, can anyone tell me why I have brought you all up here?” the teacher asked, smiling pleasantly at his array of students.

“Because you want us to be cold?” asked a little girl, with a cheeky expression.

“Because the veil is thin here?” a boy of about eight years answered, giving the little girl a baleful look.

“Yes! Very good, Andras. I'm certain you sensed it didn't you? Because you're a mage,” the teacher beamed.

“He's a mage?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. The boy was not wearing a staff as some of the older children were. “I thought people didn't come into their magic until they were older.” As she studied the children she noticed several others nodding along. Did they all have magic so young? Was this common in elvish children of the time? She sat forward, intrigued already.

“Those of you who do not possess magic, perhaps you can smell it, or feel the slight difference in the thickness of the air?”

“I can,” said a little girl, clearly proud. “It smells like ashes.”

“No it doesn't,” retorted a boy, “it smells like fresh onion grass.”

“Now now, it smells a bit differently to everyone, but now that you have a feel of it you'll know what to be aware of in your daily lives.” He spread his arms for emphasis. “But you all know that finding where the veil is thinnest is not the lesson today. We can easily study the veil at home. Why would it be important to go to a place where the veil is thin?”

Many hands shot up and the younger children squirmed with obvious eagerness. Some bounced, trying to get their hands the highest. Their teacher laughed and pointed to the red haired boy who shouted gleefully, “spirit friends!”

“You are correct! We are here to meet with our spirit friends and learn more about them! Do you all remember my spirit Companion?”

“Mercy! Yes! We love her!” the children cheered.

The teacher made a gesture in the air. A simple twist of his hand and suddenly a bright shape materialized beside him. At first it merely had a vague shape, appearing as a reddish mist. Slowly it took on the form of a woman, gaining definition. Soon a female elf stood beside the teacher. She smiled warmly and blinked pale blue eyes, folding her hands politely before her as she greeted them, “hello children.”

“Hello Mercy!” they called, obviously delighted. Even the older children were smiling.

The teacher had a bit of difficulty getting their attention focused back on him. As he attempted to restore order Astlyr glanced at Cole. His eyes were wide and bright, taking in everything. He noticed Astlyr's attention and smiled at her. “Look how much form she has! She's like me!”

Astlyr had to admit that the woman standing beside the teacher appeared to have as much substance as anyone there. “She's a spirit?”

“Yes,” Cole beamed.

The teacher had regained control, gesturing for the class to settle, “Now, now children, before we call on our own spirit friends, can anyone tell me the difference between a spirit friend and a Spirit Companion?”

This seemed to give the children more pause. No one looked eager to raise their hands this time. The woman, Mercy, gave them all a reassuring smile. “It's alright,” she said, her voice gentle. It reminded Astlyr of her own mother's voice somehow. “That is what we are here to learn.”

“All of you children have recently found your very own spirit friend. A certain spirit who desires to get to know you, to spend time with you. Not many people are so lucky as to be chosen as a friend to a spirit. That is why you are all here, because you are all special in this regard. One day, if you and that spirit decide to remain together, it will become bound to you as your Spirit Companion.”

“But binding spirits is wrong!” said one of the younger girls, wrinkling her nose. “Mages mustn't do that, my mother says so!”

“It's not that type of binding,” Mercy reassured the group. “When a spirit becomes your Companion he or she changes and becomes more a part of this world. They can still travel freely to the Fade, but now they prefer to stay here, with their elvhen Companion. Once we have chosen to bind ourselves to an individual we are joined forever. One will never be without the other, even when we seem far apart.”

“This is a rare, and very precious gift,” said the teacher, nodding sagely. “Of the children who have gathered here, perhaps only ten of you, or even fewer, will remain with your spirit until Companionship is attained.”

Astlyr caught her breath. Now she understood why Cole was excited. “This change can be a frightening time for your spirit friend,” the teacher went on, “and you must practice kindness and understanding. A spirit must change part of what they are. They must become more. When Mercy first came to me, mercy is all she was. She found me one day when I was being punished by my father. She felt sorry for me and she spoke to me. Most spirit friends seek out a quality or situation that speaks to what they are. Mercy and I became friends, and eventually she decided to become my Companion. She became greater than merely mercy. She is more whole, more able to understand our world.”

“Is she elvhen?” asked a dark haired boy of perhaps ten years. who had drawn nearer to his instructor, obviously intrigued.

“She will never be elvhen. She is a spirit, but now she is a being of two worlds.” the teacher explained.

“Can we be of two worlds?” the boy pressed, scooting so far forward his knees bumped the child in front of him.

“We have not yet found a way to allow elvhen to move as easily between the Fade and this world as we do,” said Mercy. “Certainly your mages have a simpler time of it, but it is not the same.”

“We're getting off topic,” said the teacher. “Everyone, would you please call your spirit friends.”

Each child moved to do as they were bidden and Astlyr watched, deeply intrigued. Most of the children with magic seemed to use a spell to call on their spirit friend, while others whistled, or shouted. One little girl just waved her hands about in the air as though trying to get someone to throw a ball to her. Then, all around them, little points of light appeared. Some slowly took various forms, while others remained merely wisps. Astlyr noticed that some of the little spirits took the form of animals, while others imitated the children themselves.

“This is amazing,” Astlyr breathed.

“I know,” Cole fairly cheered, rocking back so far she thought he might topple from his perch. “Do you understand this, Astlyr? Do you know what this means?!” He stopped rocking and joined her on the ground, and expression of pure joy on his face. “I'm your Spirit Companion!”

“Mine?”

“Yes! I must be! I chose you, I choose you!” he grabbed her hands and she was startled by their warmth. “That's why I've been changing. I'm not becoming more human, I'm becoming more. Becoming more you, becoming more us!”

“Can this even happen with a qunari?” she asked, skeptical. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the children playing with their spirits. The teacher was going to have even more trouble gathering them all back together this time.

“It must be able to, because it happened,” said Cole, certain. “I was afraid, just like he said, and now I'm not compassion any more. I'm Cole. Not dead Cole, not spirit Cole. I'm fully me.”

Astlyr wasn't certain how to react, but she decided a hug was best. She reached forward and enveloped her friend in her arms. “Thank you Cole, for choosing me,” she said.

“I'm glad I found you. Glad I found this. It took a long time, but I found it.” Cole rested his head against her shoulder. He shifted so he was leaning against her and looking out at the cavorting children and spirits.

The dark haired boy had his hand up again, seemingly ignoring the relative chaos around him. His spirit friend had taken the form of a lizard and squatted at his side, occasionally hissing in annoyance at the frivolity of anyone who came too near. It tucked up its legs in clear disgust and nestled closer to the boy. “Is there any way, maybe with magic, to bring a spirit and person even closer? Perhaps then we could go into the Fade more easily.”

“Well, as you know some spirits will go inside elvhen hosts, but this is dangerous-” Mercy had teleported nearer to the boy so he could better hear her answers. “It is not the same as having a Spirit Companion.”

“That is dangerous because the elvehn can corrupt the spirit, or sometimes the other way around.” the child filled in, looking a bit smug at his own intelligence. “But that's because the person and spirit aren't fully joined. They're still two beings, just inside one host, unless one takes over the other and that still doesn't solve my problem.”

“Your problem?” Mercy chuckled, not unkindly. “Well,” she bent down, a placid expression on her face. “Perhaps you will be the one to discover a way.”

“Maybe I will,” the boy said, already looking determined.

Astlyr turned back to Cole, who was watching with a pleased expression. She had never seen him so contented. It was like the first brush of spring air on your face after a long winter. Her heart gave a little flutter as she dared to ask, “Are you still angry with me, Cole, for what I decided to do with those mages?”

“I was angry,” Cole said, as though realizing this for the first time. “I'm not any longer. I think I understand now. I can be angry with you sometimes and disagree with you and you won't fade and I won't fade. We're still us, always. The pieces are held together now. Whole. You make me better.”

Astlyr beamed, letting the lightness of the joy her friend clearly felt wash over her. There would be time to think of troubles later. For now she and Cole had finally made a discovery about him. He continued to lean into her, watching the children and their spirits, listening to their chatter. His head was warm where it rested against her shoulder and his hair smelled pleasantly of sweet hay.

She pondered briefly if she was worthy of this. She bore the anchor mark on her hand, but according to Fen'Harel it was not elvish, so perhaps it had nothing to do with befriending a spirit. Clearly, as no one had seemingly even heard of this 'Companionship' occurrence in her time, the practice had long since faded. Perhaps the presence of humanity had stamped out the last of those who could befriend such creatures as Cole or Mercy. And she was qunari. About as far from being an elf as one could get and still have pointy ears. She was no mage, and she was no elf, yet here she sat in the Fade with the seeming oddity that was Cole, learning that she had been chosen by him for something that had not happened in who knew how long. She fought back her confused feelings of unworthiness for his sake if no one else's. She didn't want him to sense her confusion on this subject.

Then a new thought came to her. “Do you suppose Fen'Harel knew about this and didn't tell us? He would have known, wouldn't he?”

Cole looked up at her tilting his chin and raising his brows, “I don't think he knew. There are still bits missing and the spirit parts are the worst. Moths biting away his remembrances.”

“Hmm,” Astlyr mused, wondering why this would be. She decided to let the thought go. She could afford herself a few more blissful moments. She had to admit that she never would have thought a good time could be had in the Fade. Nothing was attacking her. No demons were trying to manipulate or possess her. Cole nestled comfortably in her arms and she thought that perhaps this Fade business wasn't all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much extra to say about this one. You should all know that this chapter is made of foreshadowing and hints. Go to it, detectives! Also this idea may or may not have a little to do with me trying to justify turning him more spirit in game. In no way is it only that, but that is there a little bit haha. Did you make Cole more spirit or more human, and why?
> 
> And now I'll just share this song with you, which is the theme I have chosen for Astlyr and Cole. I know it's a love song, but I think it can work for a friendship too, and I think it expresses their friendship well.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xq76aQRmbQA


	23. Shield Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter Astlyr found that she and Cole might be more connected than they thought.
> 
> No lie, I'm super excited to share this chapter with you!

Part 23  
Shield Me

Asltyr spent the night on the temple floor. She woke the next morning to the concerned faces of the workmen who had come to finish up repairs on the tunnel. Cole was still seated at Astlyr's side, though she had tipped over at some point during the night and curled up like a child in her cloak. A very large child. She hastily tried to dismiss her presence to the workmen, who muttered to one another and a few of them laughed. Perhaps they were already chalking it up to the usual odd behavior of their leader. A woman who jumped off of walls and banished people to the Fade.

Once Astlyr had extricated herself and Cole from the situation she heaved a sigh and straightened her back. “Last night I thought my bed felt too soft,” she admitted to the spirit boy. “The me of today would have told the me of last night to suck it up.”

Cole made no comment. He was back to his pale, sorrowful looking self, though there did seem to be a hint of a spring in his step. He kept shooting her furtive little glances as though uncertain what to say. Astlyr imagined this was because they were both feeling the same thing. What was the protocol when you have just discovered you've been chosen by a spirit? What was that spirit meant to do or say? Did this change anything? Finally Cole did speak, and she felt a great sense of relief as she and he walked side by side towards the temple stairs leading up to the courtyard. “I don't think anything needs to change,” he said. “I think everything that was supposed to change already has.”

“I suppose you're right,” Astlyr agreed, cutting a sideways glance at her friend.

“All it means is that now I don't have to be afraid.” he said, a hint of the boy he had been in the Fade coming through in his tone.

Astlyr blinked as she and Cole broke into the dawn sunlight as through a layer of ice. Though the burgeoning day was cold as ever, the sun managed to send a gentle touch of warmth to kiss Astlyr's upturned cheeks. She hesitated, staying her friend with her hand and turning to face him, “Cole, you never needed to be afraid, you just didn't know it.”

“I didn't believe it,” he admitted. “I saw it in your thoughts sometimes, how much you ache to protect me, and everyone you love. I just...I wasn't certain you could protect me. Now I see that we are made to protect one another.”

“I'm glad you feel more secure,” she said, meaning it deeply.

Astlyr had another thought. “You told me that you were noticing other people's pain less lately, and those of your friends more. Has that gotten worse?”

Cole shook his head, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as his hat brim flopped. “No. It's the same. Your pain cries to me loudly and sometimes the others only whisper, but I can still hear them. I have to try harder to hear them, but I can.”

“Is that alright?” she asked, a tense feeling in her chest. She didn't want to ruin his happy discovery.

“Yes. I can listen for the whispers, and I don't need to answer every shout from your pain. I will learn this new way. I want to learn it.”

Astlyr threw an arm around Cole and tugged him to her for a hug as they walked. It was an abrupt and slightly clumsy motion, but the boy went along with it willingly, even managing to look slightly less miserable. “I'm more pleased than you know that you're happy, Cole,” she said, freeing him from the awkward hug.

“You're hungry, and Josephine is looking for you,” Cole announced, tilting his chin up so she could see his sunken eyes beneath the hat brim. “I will leave you for now. Your business is important.”

“Alright,” she gave him a warm smile. “Thank you for showing me what you found, Cole. It's wonderful.”

“It is wonderful.” Cole managed to beam, even while simultaneously looking as though he had just been told terrible news. She shook her head and chuckled as he left her in a puff of disturbed snow and cold air.

“Breakfast,” she muttered to herself as she made her way towards the tavern. Perhaps she would meet some of her friends there. She idly wondered if anyone besides Josephine had realized that she had not slept in her bed. She was pleasantly surprised that she was not as sore as she expected. Perhaps her body was getting used to sleeping on floors. She rolled her shoulder. It was stiff, but she could work that out later in the practice yard. It looked as though it would be a fine day for it.

~~~~~

“Inquisitor!” Josephine's voice was a little shrill and Astlyr almost dropped her forkful of egg. It was still early enough in the morning that the tavern breakfast crowd was not in yet, but Krem had been about and the two of them had settled down for a hearty meal. Krem related the capture of the three mages with a look of cocky pleasure on his face. He had situated cups and cutlery around the table to demonstrate the trap they had laid and how it had been sprung on the unfortunate terrorists. Krem had been just about to punctuate the final glorious moments with a slam of fist against table when the diplomat had entered in a tizzy.

“Yes, Josie?” Astlyr said, jamming the egg into her mouth with the fresh realization that her meal may be cut short by matters of state.

“Where have you been? I've been searching Skyhold for an hour! I was just about to alert the guard!”

“Make's balls, you didn't did you?” Astlyr sat up. The last thing she needed was Jones setting her people to combing the fortress. Or worse, rousing Cullen and distressing him with no reason.

“No,” Josephine said, already visibly calming. She gave Krem a friendly nod and a quick smile of greeting. The woman was nothing if not polite.

“Cole and I had some early morning business to attend to,” Astlyr said, as casually as she could. She decided not to share last night's sleeping arrangements in that moment. The workmen would no doubt tell tales of the Inquisitor's latest oddness. She didn't need to grease the gossip wheel herself.

“After yesterday's...judgment,” Josie picked her words carefully, “Cassandra felt it prudent to inform the Commander and myself of what you discovered in your travels. And more importantly, whom.”

“Ah,” Astlyr stood, grabbing a piece of toast and piling a bit of egg onto it, “Thank you for joining me this morning Krem,” she said hastily. “I'm afraid Josephine and I have important matters to-”

“No need to be formal with me, Boss,” Krem interjected, chuckling at the two women. “Get on, I'll finish up your portion. It'll be a hardship, let me tell you,” the man put on a long suffering expression which was about as convincing as his statement.

Astlyr gave Krem a sassy grin and followed Josephine out of the tavern, munching on her egg and toast as best she could. “What are your thoughts?” she asked around a mouthful.

“I am uncertain what to think. I might have chided you for bringing another potentially dangerous person into our fortress, but in truth that was always Leliana's job more than mine. I admit I am quite poor at chiding. I...I cannot say what I think for certain. We have set guards over this Lady Ghilan person, but I am still uneasy. Do you truly believe her to be a goddess?”

Astlyr hushed the diplomat with a gesture, even though the courtyard was deserted that morning. Work would begin soon on the mage tower, though most of the repairs were now interior. “I don't know what I think either, to be honest. I have been slowly coming around to this idea of elvish gods. Or at least, of long-lived beings that believe themselves to be gods. Certainly at one time they were powerful and held a great deal of sway.”

“And from what I hear, some of them desire this again,” Josephine said, moving slightly ahead to take the lead, a challenge when faced with Astlyr's long stride. She indicated that they were heading for Skyhold proper. Astlyr imagined that they would continue their conversation in Josie's office, but to her surprise the woman led the way to Fen'Harel's rooms.

Inside Astlyr saw that Fen and Cullen were both pouring over some papers spread on the small desk. “Is this our new war table then?” Astlyr asked as she entered, brows raised.

“Ah,” Cullen looked up, “there you are. Josephine left to find you over an hour ago. I was beginning to think she got lost.”

“No. I was the one who wandered off from the herd,” Astlyr caught a searching flash of Cullen's gold-flecked eyes to hers, which told her he had been concerned about her absence, but was too wise to throw everyone into an uproar over it just yet. She gave him a quick smile before his gaze left hers. “So what crisis are we averting today?”

“Well, we're not certain it's a crisis yet. It may well be, in time.” Cullen replied, shuffling a few papers aside with a grunt of annoyance. She knew he favored neatness and Fen'Harel's hap-hazard style made him chafe.

Astlyr moved to stand beside the two men, peering over their shoulders. She couldn't make heads or tails of the jumble of parchment they had set out. There were maps, lists, letters, it all made Astlyr's eyes cross. Josephine filled in, knowing that all of this was somewhat outside the inquisitor's wheelhouse. “As you know, Fen'Harel claims that the...being... known as Mythal may be seeking to change the world to her liking, which, according to Fen, would mean the subjugation or even attempted elimination of the other races.”

“I can't see that happening,” Cullen stood back from the papers, arms folded, brows raised. “The sheer manpower that would take. I don't think there are enough elves in the world to make a go of that.”

“She will try,” Fen'Harel looked up as well, flicking his head to clear his brown curls from his face. “She will gather her fellow gods around her, and there will be great loss of life.”

“How would she gather and move her troops?” Cullen asked, in a tone which suggested they had tread this ground already.

“As I have told you, Commander, I do not yet know,” Fen sounded annoyed and his blue eyes flashed.

Cullen bristled but recovered himself quickly. “Indeed. What I am saying, Inquisitor, is that while these beings may think themselves all powerful, to achieve the goals they may or may not have set would be impossible.”

“What about the Eluvians?” Astlyr questioned. “Was that how the elves used to travel?”

“It would be highly impractical and nearly impossible to move such a number via the mirror gates. It would be like trying to get an army through a single door.” Fen said, though his voice held no scorn for her idea.

“So if the elves do attack what we must do is try to prevent loss of life?” Astlyr questioned. She took a moment to look around the room. Ghilan'nain was not there. Judging by the guards she had passed in the hall, the goddess of the halla was one door down from this one, on the other side of Myfanwy's room. Astlyr glanced towards Myfanwy's door, which was closed. She hoped the raised voices were not bothering the elf if she was still attempting to sleep.

Astlyr's thoughts were so distracted that she almost didn't hear Cullen continuing to speak. “Fen'Harel has urged us to seek out more of the foci in an attempt to hinder this 'Mythal' in her efforts.”

“Though she has likely already released several of our fellows,” Fen said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with finger and thumb. Astlyr noticed that his eyes were red rimmed and he held himself with an air of weariness. She wondered if he had been up all night with this problem. Cullen and Josie looked well rested, so it was obvious the elf had chosen to toil alone until morning. “I do not know what other measures she may be taking in an attempt to fulfill her plans, misguided as they are.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with Morrigan's flight?” Astlyr asked, folding her arms and wishing she had been able to finish her breakfast.

“Where are we at?” Cassandra entered the room suddenly in a flurry of precise motion. “I'm sorry I'm late. I had to set my men on their guard rotations and listen to reports from last night. Nothing of note occurred,” she clarified when the others looked at her expectantly.

“Small favors,” Astlyr breathed. She watched the warrior woman easily slide into the conversation as though she had always been there. Astlyr knew that Cas and Cullen took it in turns to set the guards and hear the reports. An intelligent use of the two experienced commanders. Astlyr was pleased that they had come to this on their own. Where two others might have felt threatened by one another, the Seeker and the Commander were able to see one another's strengths and utilize them. Alstyr could only hope to one day be as level-headed and competent as those two.

“I'm afraid-” Josephine raised her voice over Cullen, who was rushing through an explanation of the conversation thus far for Cas, “that I have some news to add this morning.” She settled a few papers atop her writing board, standing patiently, awaiting acknowledgment.

“What have you found, Josie?” Astlyr turned to the diplomat, glad that she might have something to add to the conversation. With all these military folk talking is was beginning to feel as if there were 'too many generals at the war table', as an old mercenary pal of hers used to say.

“As you are aware, our spies have been keeping close track of the goings on in Tevinter and Orlais. Word of slave market raids and alienages going empty has slowed, but just last night a small band of our spies returned with a most unusual report.”

“Are you going to keep us in suspense?” asked Cassandra, raising a brow at the Antivan's flair for the dramatic.

“We have word that Dalish elves are seen to be gathering in and around Halamshiral.”

“Is that unusual?” Astlyr questioned, tilting her head slightly.

“Not necessarily,” Myfanwy had just opened the door to her room, obviously unable to pretend she was asleep any longer.

Astlyr was startled as she took in the elvish woman. The marks which had decorated Myfanwy's face and neck were gone, leaving pale, perfect flesh as though they had never been. Perhaps, Astlyr thought, she had been wrong believing the marks to be tattoos. Perhaps the elf painted them on periodically with special dye? Astlyr would be the first to admit she knew little to nothing about cosmetics. Myfanwy took Astlyr's scrutiny in stride, offering a quick explanation as the others noticed as well. “Lord Fen'Harel explained to me that the Vallaslin, the blood writing, is not what the Dalish believe it to be. We thought it brought us closer to our gods when in reality they are slave marks, binding us to a certain god's will.”

“I asked if she wished hers to be removed. I have had, and yet have, no desire for mindless followers,” Fen'Harel said, not raising his head from the papers he studied.

“Are you pleased that you removed them?” Astlyr questioned.

“Yes,” Myfanwy said, and she did look happy with her decision, though it was odd to see her face so unmarked. “The Vallasin of Fen'Harel was one that my family created, as we knew no other followers of his. How foolish we were to mark ourselves as the slaves of one who kept no slaves.”

“That is fascinating,” said Josephine, who had been scribbling notes as the elf had explained. Her chestnut eyes were bright with interest.

Myfanwy raised an eyebrow at the diplomat then turned back to Astlyr and her two commanders, “I overheard you speaking of Halamshiral and of a gathering of Dalish there.”

“Yes,” Cullen affirmed, giving the woman his full attention, “Do you have knowledge of this?”

“I was born in a Dalish clan, as you know,” Myfanwy explained, settling herself against the desk and leaning back with her hands resting on the mess of papers. “I was young when my mother and father were banished because of their unpopular beliefs. Still, I learned from them what I had not gathered from the clan. It is not uncommon for Dalish to gather at Halamshiral for what is known as an Arlathvhen. A meeting of the clans to exchange knowledge, artifacts, and even members. Mages are often traded from clan to clan at these meetings. Too many mages in one clan is considered bad for a number of reasons, not the least of which is drawing the attention of the Chantry,” she shot a dark look towards Cullen, though she quickly cleared her face of any anger, perhaps with the understanding that this particular templar was different from the ones who may have persecuted her people. “My father was a mage, so he told us all about these situations. He was traded from his original clan at an Arlathvhen when he came into his magic.”

“So this gathering may well be an ordinary occurrence?” Cassandra asked, folding her well muscled arms.

“It may be,” Myfanwy affirmed, “though it is odd for them to hold an Arlathvhen in the winter, I have heard of such a thing happening in times of crisis, or when it is deemed important that the clans meet.”

“Perhaps they are gathering to regroup after the situation with Corypheus,” Cullen offered.

“Or,” Fen'Harel spoke again, raising his head at last, blue eyes roving over the faces of the group, “they are gathering to meet with their gods.”

“We should do our best to find out,” Astlyr turned to Josephine. “Does our spymaster have fresh men he can send to investigate further?”

The diplomat flipped through a few pages on her writing board and scrutinized a list. “I shall discuss it with him immediately. It is times like this I miss Leliana, I'm sorry, I mean Her Holiness.”

Astlyr stifled a chuckle at the title. It was still difficult to imagine the slight, mysterious, woman wearing robes and sitting haughtily on the sunburst throne. Though it was easy for Astlyr to understand the power this would afford her old adviser. Leliana was always one to have her hands in everything and Astlyr could almost see the tendrils of influence the woman must now command, spanning from chantry to chantry like a web. She would not have been the least bit surprised to learn that Leliana still had spies in Skyhold, keeping an eye on things there.

“Until we know more about this...Arlathvhen,” Cullen pronounced the word carefully, “what do we tell people? Should the elves here be informed?”

“No,” Fen'Harel's voice was too loud and clipped. “I believe that would be a grave mistake. Especially with Mythal in the world doing just that. It would have reverberative repercussions to the delicate balance here at Skyhold. We have those who believe in the Chant standing alongside those who wear the mark on Mythal on their faces. If we tip the scale; if we tell them that the elvish gods walk abroad, it could bring chaos to our home.”

Astlyr did not fail to notice that Fen'Harel had referred to Skyhold as his home, and she felt an odd gratification at his words. “Alright. We will continue to keep this to ourselves. The people will be fully informed at such a time as it becomes necessary. Until then we will continue to state that Ghilan is a visiting mage and friend of the Inquisition.”

Cullen gave a slight grimace, his hand against the back of his neck as he took in a tight breath. Astlyr knew he didn't like the idea of keeping things from his men. He felt that everyone should have all the facts whenever possible. Still, he must have seen the sense of it because he did not comment, merely looked pained.

Myfanwy grabbed her cloak from a peg on the wall. Obviously she had places to go that morning. She glanced back at the group and Astlyr was once again struck by her unmarked face. It would take her a while to get used to it, she mused. “Do you still have need of me?” Myfanwy asked.

“I don't. How about the rest of you?” Astlyr turned to her advisers and Fen.

“I believe we have asked all the questions we have for you at the moment,” said Cullen. “Unless there is more you can add to our knowledge of what the Dalish might be doing at Halamshiral.”

“I have told you all I can,” Myfanwy said, earnestly. “Call on me if you think of anything else,” she encouraged as she left.

Once the elf was gone Cullen turned to the others, an expression of concern still on his face. “I did not want to mention it until Myfanwy had departed. I've been told that the 'god' aiding Mythal is known as 'the god of vengeance.'”

Fen'Harel looked up, his face grim. “Indeed, he is.”

Josephine caught on, “if the elves are gathering at the instruction of this-” she checked her notes, “Elgar'nan- should we not be concerned for the empress? I am certain that Elgar'nan will have heard of Celine's actions against the elves of Halamshiral. She has much elvish blood on her hands.”

“Indeed,” Cullen nodded, a grave expression on his face.

“Should we warn the empress?” Astlyr asked, watching her people with a practiced eye, gauging their worry. The hard line between Cassandra's eyes spoke louder than her words might have. “Will she listen to us?”

“You saved her life, and then the world,” Josephine pointed out, scribbling madly. “If you do not have her ear now, I am not certain who does. Though she will be dubious. She is in a position of firmer power now than she has been in some time, since our elimination of her recent opposition, Briala and Gaspard.”

“We must use caution,” Cassandra warned. “The last thing we need is Celine's supporters getting word that elves may be trying to kill her and have another attempted purge on our hands.”

Astlyr glanced at Fen'Harel who was keeping his head low again with clear determination. She wondered what he thought of the empress who had murdered so many elves. As Solas he had said little, though he had not spoken in favor of the woman. Astlyr thought back on the pale, seemingly fragile Orlaisian leader. Had that delicate creature truly ordered the slaughter of so many? Astlyr could tell by the set of Fen'Harel's shoulders that he might have been happier if the empress had met her end during the ball at the Winter Palace. “So we shall send a message, but use discretion.”

“Our most trusted messanger must be sent,” Josephine agreed. “With a verbal message only, nothing written; and with strict direction to deliver it only to Celine herself.”

“Is there a chance she will use this to justify another attack of the elves?” Cassandra asked.

“She has less proof than we do that the elves may plan against her her, and we only have scraps,” Astlyr said, knowing she was wishing her words were true more than knowing they were.

“She would be hard pressed to find an adequate reason to attack them now. Especially as her popularity plummeted significantly after the first purge.” Josephine replied.

“Alright, well...I suppose we have our plan then,” Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck and scanning the mess of papers on Fen'Harel's desk with an uneasy eye.

Josephine's quill scritched across her paper as she took a few last minute notes. “Alright, I shall do my best with the contacts we have, and perhaps I can find us a few more. The Inquisition still has a good deal of clout, though we have slid to the background in some circles. With the threat of the rifts no longer looming...”

“I see how it goes,” Astlyr grouched, though she managed a wry smile, “everyone's eager to be our friend while we're saving the world, but the second we do-” she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder expressively to illustrate how quickly people had become disinterested.

“So it would seem at times,” Josie nodded, heading for the door, obviously already milling over ideas for new contacts and better ways to gather information. The diplomat had found herself taking on a goodly share of Leliana's responsibilities after the spymaster departed. Though Leliana had left her second in command in charge of her duties, he answered to Josephine these days. Astlyr had to admire the woman for her constant grace in the face of whatever adversity the troubles of Skyhold might throw her way, including an inquisitor who insisted on making brash and highly unusual decisions.

Astlyr heaved a sigh, feeling as though they had made little headway. She was beginning to feel like one running in place. No matter what she did, new problems reared their heads. “I'm heading to the practice yard to work out some kinks, anyone care to join me?” Astlyr questioned the group.

Fen'Harel hardly looked up from his papers, “I believe I shall pass on your offer. I have a good deal of research I would like to accomplish and I need to jog my memories a bit more before we depart for the Western Approach. I would be loath to lead us astray.”

“I wouldn't like that either,” Astlyr agreed, looking at her two remaining advisers.

“I will join you,” Cassandra dipped her head in a nod. “It has been a while since you and I sparred, and I believe young Guard Captain Jones was seeking some instruction, so I will send word that she should meet us in the yard.”

“That sounds excellent,” Astlyr said, folding her arms and turning to Cullen.

“I can't,” he said, looking suddenly flustered, “I recall that I have a bit of business to attend to. Perhaps I will join you when it is finished.”

“Alright,” Astlyr said, giving his face a quick scrutiny. A look passed between the commander and Cassandra as he left the room with too much hurry in his steps. Astlyr raised her eyebrows at the seeker who merely shrugged and led the way into the hall.

“Don't study too hard,” Astlyr said, by way of a goodbye to Fen.

He looked up at her a bit wearily, “I shan't,” he reassured her.

Astlyr clasped her hands behind her back as she and Cassandra walked. “So, I didn't have the chance to ask you what you thought of my judgment.” She braced herself inwardly. She valued the warrior woman's assessment more strongly than almost any other.

To her surprise Cas did not admonish her for foolishness or cruelty. “I will admit, I would not have thought of it. However, given your options and the necessity of punishment for those individuals, I feel you made a unique and effective choice.”

“You don't think it was needlessly dramatic? I don't want a reputation for banishing people into the Fade on a whim.”

“One instance is hardly precedence for concern. When you start ripping into the Fade every morning before breakfast, then I'll worry.”

Astlyr chuckled as the two descended the long stairs from the hold's main doors. The banners which decorated the way fluttered in a cool breeze, but the day was still pleasant. “Any idea what Cullen thought?”

Cassandra made a snort of laughter, “I believe he was more concerned with the animated stone wolf outside the wall. I did manage to convince him that Alun means us no harm, but no doubt he has given the men special instructions to keep an eye on him.”

Astyr wondered how their stone guest was fairing outside the walls of Skyhold. She resolved to pop out an visit him later.

The sun shone hospitably and the practice yard which, though small, was inviting. The straw dummies were freshly placed and all of the wooden practice swords and shields looked in good repair. One of the refugees had taken it upon himself to make the practice yard his pet project. Astlyr admired his handiwork, noting that he had spread fresh sand after the latest snow so that no one would slip. She would have to track him down and see that he was well paid and thanked for his efforts. Astlyr moved across the yard and selected her usual wooden sword and shield from the rack, Cassandra doing the same.

Soon both women sparred energetically. Astlyr had size and strength on the seeker, but Cassandra gave as good as she got, often surprising the inquisitor with her own force of arms. Cassandra could hold a sword block that would have shook the wrists of a lesser fighter, and would take a hit from Astlyr's shield with barely a flinch. Asltyr would be the first to admit that Cass's footwork was better. The qunari was used to her sheer power to make up for lack of maneuverability, but she recognized this weakness in herself and she asked her friend for advice.

“Remember,” Cas said, taking up a fighting stance as Astlyr watched, squatting in the snow to better see what the other woman was doing with her feet, “do not over-commit to the shield charge. If you lock yourself into forward movement you lose the ability to compensate for your foe.” She demonstrated by charging a dummy and at the last moment, pulling up short and darting to the left, slashing the straw man's side.

“Doing that slows your charge,” Astlyr pointed out. “It gives them more time to notice you.”

Cassandra chuckled. “I believe that if you are charging at them, they will notice anyway.”

Astlyr had to laugh at this. “True,” she admitted, taking up her own stance and mimicking Cassandra's motions as best she could. She still surged forward with too much aggression and when she made to slow and dodge to the side she instead almost tripped and wound up hitting the wall behind the row of dummies with her shoulder. She winced ruefully, rubbing her shoulder. “I think I have a bit of work to do on that,” she admitted.

“I thought you were scary,” said a friendly voice. Gaurdswoman Jones had entered the practice yard, a bright grin on her round face as she took in the two women.

“I wasn't going for scary,” Astlyr explained a little sheepishly, rather wishing that the guard had not seen her clumsiness, “I was trying to have better footwork.”

“Oh...I see,” Jones said, though it was obvious that she was a bit confused. Her face cleared as she moved to take up her own practice weapons, hefting the wooden sword experimentally. “May I train with you?” she asked, doing an extremely poor job of concealing her eagerness.

“Of course,” Cassandra said, smiling with a warmth that Astlyr wasn't used to. “I did tell you that we could practice whenever you like when we are at Skyhold.” Cassandra turned to Astlyr, explaining, “Jones is concerned because her men do not always show her respect. To them she is leader in title alone.”

“So I wanted to learn to fight better,” Jones said, taking up a stance, a contemplative look on her face as she adjusted her foot placement and raised and lowered her sword arm to find the correct spot. “So at least I can thrash them in the ring if they question me.”

Asltyr let out her abrupt bark of a laugh, “I like your style, Jones,” she said.

All three women began to practice. It was an intense workout for Jones. The tempo at which the inquisitor and seeker fought was much higher than anything the guard had ever faced. Soon she was panting and bruised, but still looked determined, even as Cassandra bowled her off her feet with a well timed shield bash.

“What did I do wrong that time?” Jones asked, taking Cassandra's offered hand.

Astlyr, who was taking a turn at watching and advising rubbed her chin, pondering what she had just seen. “You were planted well enough, but your feet were too lateral. Form a triangle with your feet and your shield. I makes you harder to push over. If Cas hits you, you should be knocked to the side instead of on your ass.”

Cassandra nodded. “Also, keep in mind that you are shorter than most opponents you will face.”

It struck Astlyr then that Cassandra herself did not stand above average height for a human female. Sometimes Astlyr didn't notice peoples' heights at all, as she was taller than everyone she knew with the exception of Iron Bull, it little mattered. Now she listened, interested.

“Because you are lower to the ground, and because you are a woman with a low center of gravity, you can still have an advantage over a taller opponent like Astlyr. More so if that opponent is a man, as their center of gravity is in their chest,” Cas got low, bending her knees and balancing expertly on the balls of her feet. “If you are charging a taller foe, get low as you can. They won't expect your power, trust me. If you hit them center of mass you can almost always knocked them back, or even down. Why don't you practice on the Inquisitor?”

Jones looked excited to try. This she did, several times, until Astlyr was beginning to get a bit sore. For a small person Jones managed to get a lot of force behind her shield. Out of the corner of her eye Astlyr saw that a small crowd had gathered to spectate. She noted with satisfaction that some of the off duty guards were watching and muttering to one another in jealousy that Jones was getting special training. She also saw the glint of golden hair and realized that Cullen had joined the observers. Unfortunately she came to this discovery it the exact moment Jones accomplished a particularly excellent shield charge and managed to slam Astlyr to earth.

“Well done,” she coughed, embarrassed and proud in the same moment. It would be impossible to be angry with Jones for her timing. The woman stood above Astlyr beaming and fit to bust with pride. Astlyr could hear some of the guards chattering more loudly about how they would have to step up their own skills now. Astlyr achieved her feet and dusted sand and slush from her backside.

“Ah, Commander Cullen,” Cassandra said, perhaps a little too loudly. “Jones, have you noticed how the commander holds his shield? High and tilted downward slightly?” She demonstrated with her own shield as Cullen moved to the front of the watchers, arms folded and a good-natured expression on his face.

“Yes,” Jones mimicked the stance, curious.

“Well, it's wrong.” Cassandra said, the hint of an impish grin on her scarred face.

“Is it?” Jones asked.

“Oh thanks,” Cullen said, rolling his eyes expressively. “I was taught to hold it that way as a templar, to deflect magic away from my face.”

“Oh,” Jones said, taking up the stance and then shifting back and forth between it and her regular shield posture. “Interesting.”

“It won't help you much in an ordinary battle,” Cassandra said, stepping in and using Jone's raised shield to her advantage, sweeping in below and pressing the tip of the practice sword to Jones' belly. “It covers your face so you cannot see attacks coming in below your guard.”

“I suppose that is true,” Cullen conceded, still smiling gamely. Astlyr met his eyes and he suddenly looked unsteady. “Er, Inquisitor...Astlyr...would you...? could I...?” he straightened, making himself the formal soldier once again. “I have something I wish to discuss with you. Will you accompany me to the forge?”

“Certainly,” Astlyr hung her sword and practice shield back in place. “You'll be alright without me?” she asked Jones and Cassandra.

“Of course,” the seeker said with a brusque nod. Was it Astlyr's imagination or did another significant look pass between Cassandra and Cullen, as it had earlier in Fen'Harel's rooms? She pondered this as she followed her friend towards the forge.

As they walked she spotted Myfanwy. The elf was out in the main yard with Gossamer the horse. She was lunging the animal in a circle under the careful instruction of one of the stable hands. Perhaps the elf had taken Astlyr and Cullen's words to heart and intended to form a closer bond with her mount so that she could one day ride without the aid of saddles and bridles.

“What's up?” Astlyr asked of her friend, hurrying to walk beside Cullen again, letting the distraction of Myfanwy fall away. He was very pointedly avoiding her eyes, looking directly ahead with determination. “Has something gone wrong with the forge?” her mind instantly flashed to images of the fires catching and burning half the place down before it was stopped. Or perhaps they had run out of coal and now the smith had nothing with which to keep his fires going at all. Why had no one told her they were running low? Cullen was probably being stoic so as not to needlessly alarm Skyhold's residents before they had to.

To Astlyr's surprise the forge was intact. The fire guttered low, but there was a full scuttle of coals beside it, waiting to be heaped on. The forge was also empty. No sign of the smith or either of his two apprentices. “What-?” she began confusedly as Cullen close the door behind him. All the shutters were closed too. It was a blessing that the fire was low or the temperature in the place would have been stifling.

“I wanted to give you something,” Cullen said, still looking a little unsteady. He marched across the room as if ready for parade drills and opened a large wooden chest where the scrap metal was usually kept. Instead of pulling out old, bent horseshoes or a broken sword, he carefully lifted an elegant shield from the box. “I...I had this made for you.” He held it out towards her.

Astlyr took the offered shield reverently. The weight felt right and the metal was so new it glinted silver. It as well shaped and when she tried it on her arm it was perfectly sized. She tightened the new leather straps and they squeaked pleasantly. “Oh Cullen,” she exhaled. “It's wonderful!”

“Is it? Thank the Maker,” Cullen said, huffing as though he had been holding his breath. “I er...I asked Dorian if you would like it.”

“What did he say?” Astlyr questioned, sliding the shield free of her arm to study it in more detail.

“Well, first he made a very crude joke about giving you a sword, which does not bare repeating.” 

Astlyr's too-loud laugh was especially startling in the closed up forge, but this time Cullen did not jump. “That sounds about right,” she said, admiring the shield's well crafted edge. It could easily separate a foe's head from his body with the right force, which Astlyr was expert at applying.

“Then he told me he thought it was perfect.”

“It is perfect,” she said emphatically, turning the shield in the dim firelight and admiring the curve. Flawless. It must have taken the smith weeks of meticulous work. Then she spotted something else. Near the apex of the shield. A circle of copper stood out. “Is that a coin?” she squinted.

“It is,” said Cullen, looking a little shaky again. She wondered if he was ill. “I... had them place that there. It, er, it's mine. It was mine, I mean. Now it's yours. Maker I'm bad at this,” he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if for divine guidance. “The day I left for templar training my brother gave me that coin,” he gestured towards her shield. “It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things,” he clarified hastily, “our faith should see us through.”

“You broke the order's rules?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. “I'm shocked.” Her words were mostly sarcastic, but she was impressed that he had managed to keep hold of the object for so long, in the face of inspections and moving from place to place as much as he had.

“Until recently I was very good at following the rules,” Cullen said, risking a smile. His whole being was tense, like an animal considering fight or flight. “Most of the time,” he conceded, his scarred lip twitching. “That coin was the only thing I took from Fereldan that the templars didn't give me. So...I wanted you to have it.”

Astlyr examined the coin. She imagined the woman's face imprinted on it to be that of Andraste, or perhaps a queen, she wasn't certain. It was rather faded, as though often rubbed between someone's fingers. “But don't you need it?” Astlyr asked, noticing how well it had been set into the shield. It wasn't coming free any time soon.

“Humor me,” Cullen said, stepping a bit closer, with the expression of one making up his mind. “I've seen what you face out there. It can't hurt.”

“I'll keep it safe,” Astlyr said, casting another pleased gaze over her new shield. “I promise not to leave this behind even if a monster does try to crush it.”

“I know it's foolish...”

“Not foolish,” Astlyr shook her head, adamantly. She had a thought and carefully tested the waters, “a gift from a friend is never foolish.”

“A friend...yes. That's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Cullen said, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked up into her face and in that moment he looked so open, so exposed that Astlyr's heart gave a little flutter. Something it had not done in a very long time. She set the shield carefully aside. Now she too felt a bit tense as she faced the man. “I've...I've spent a good deal of time thinking about what I might say...now. With you here. I had a whole thing rehearsed and now I can't remember a damn line.”

“Whole thing rehearsed?” Astlyr asked, leaning her butt against the smith's workbench and watching the commander moving uncertainly, as though he wanted to begin pacing (another nervous habit) but was restraining himself.

“Yes. I'm an idiot right?” he tilted his head towards her, smiling ruefully. “I just...I wanted to ask for a long long time now. I guess I wasn't brave enough. Maybe I'm not brave enough now...”

“Cullen,” Astlyr said, her voice firm. She stood straight, facing him with her steadiest gaze. To her surprise he did not look intimidated by her direct tone, or her size. Instead he seemed to gather himself and moved towards her until they stood only a hand's length apart.

“May I kiss you?”

Astlyr felt her stomach drop out as though she had just plummeted off of the wall again. An odd giddiness overcame her, like a teenager with a crush. Where the hell did that come from? Where was the stalwart warrior now? Instead she was scant seconds away from blushing as red as Cullen was, in spite of her dark skin. “Yes.”

Cullen closed the space between them in a blink. His hand reached up and cupped her jaw and then they were kissing. The first was tentative and he drew away, checking her expression, still uncertain. He must have seen the drunken look of pleasure on her face because he moved in again.

She had to give it to Cullen. He knew his way around a kiss. She wasn't certain she had had better. His lips were warm and soft, fitting against hers more perfectly than they had any right to. She felt his scar against her mouth and she was overcome with the urge to bite it.

Cullen seemed uncertain when it came to what to do with his hands. Finally she took them and rested them on her hips, her own hands straying to caress the small of his back, then his shoulder blades, feeling tight muscle. Neither of them were wearing their armor, for which Astlyr was profoundly grateful. Nothing would ruin the moment like breastplates clanging together. One of his hands stayed obediently at her hip while the other drifted to the back of her neck. He pressed her back against the work bench and the kissing became more urgent and fevered. Neither of them noticed the difference in their statures at all.

After this had gone on for some moments, and Astlyr felt completely out of breath and wasn't certain where her senses had wandered off to, and whether they were ever coming back, Cullen pulled away slightly, though his arms remained around her. If he minded having to look up into her face he gave no indication. “I was...well, I would normally pick the girl up and carry her to my... my quarters at this point. At least that's how the fantasy goes,” he said, smiling shyly.

“Hmm,” Astlyr looked down at herself. There would be no carrying, unless she was to throw him over her shoulder, which she was strongly considering, but restrained herself. “Well, perhaps we are better off with reality anyway.”

“You're probably right,” Cullen laughed, and it was far more comfortable than before. “Now that I think about all those stairs,” he winced.

“Exactly,” she said. “I am thinking we may just walk.”

“Walking it is,” he said with a nod, turning towards the door and reluctantly pulling his hands from her.

The two made their way across the snowy yard between the forge and the steps to the wall. Astlyr absently wondered if the smith would get the notion that they were gone and go back to his work, or whether Cullen had given the man the day off.

The two walked so close together that their fingers brushed, though neither seemed certain whether hand holding was in order just yet. Too many eyes. They still got a few odd looks from the wall guards, but Cullen managed to glare them down quite effectively.

Finally they were tucked away in his office. He shut the door and locked it, then faced her with a mildly predatory expression on his features. She bit down on her lip. Damn. He moved towards her and pressed her back against his desk and they were kissing again, just as passionately as before. When they finally came up for air some time later Cullen smirked, quirking his scarred lips. “You have no idea how long I have been waiting to do that.”

“Why didn't you?” she asked, feeling breathless. He was still pressed against her. He had her up against the wall beside his bookshelf. The cool stone was a pleasant contrast to the warm man holding her.

“Well,” he looked sheepish. “Because you were the inquisitor. And because you were the sodding Herald of Andraste. You're not supposed to kiss the gods' chosen. In other words, I was an idiot.”

“What about the fact that I am qunari?” she raised an eyebrow.

“I was even more of a fool for that,” he admitted, looking down. “I was...I was intimidated by you. Maker's breath, I still am, but I've decided not to let that stall me any longer. One of the things I like best about you is your strength. I can't love it, and hold it against you at the same time. I'm just...I'm just glad I'm not too late. When Iron Bull and you-”

“Let's not talk about him, shall we?” Astlyr chuckled, turning them so Cullen was against the wall. This time she controlled the kiss. He was getting better with his hands, being more daring and exploring body parts which would certainly make a chantry sister quite cross. Finally she twined her fingers in his and pulled away, gesturing with her head towards the loft where his bed was tucked away. He nodded, smiling.

Loft and bed achieved the two set about the business of exploring one another. She took a long moment to appreciate his chest as she pulled his shirt free in a fluid motion. He was muscular in the way of humans. Qunari, especially the males, were often overly endowed with muscles. She found she preferred Cullen's type. She admired his scars as he set about removing her garb until they were both down to their small-clothes.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed as he ran his hand from her hip to her knee. “Your legs go on forever.”

“Is that good?” she asked, still letting her own fingers explore the scars on his torso.

“Very,” he said, smiling up at her. Then his expression changed, growing closed and taught, and he pulled away.

“What is it?” she asked, concerned. “Did I do something-”

“No!” he answered, too loud and too quickly. “I...damn it. It's me again. I...I've never...”

“Cullen?” Astlyr sat up slightly. “Are you a virgin?”

He turned redder than she thought she had ever seen him and he pulled away even more, sitting at the edge of the bed, looking at his hands. “I've done...I've done some things, but the actual act...” he ran a hand through his hair, which had an even more pronounced reddish tint in the dim light. She sat still, uncertain.

“Cullen, that's fine,” she said, and she meant it. “I understand.”

“It's just that duty, and the chantry and all of it...so many things got in the way. So many things more important. And now here you are and you have experience and I'm just-”

“Cullen,” she scooted to him and pressed her fingertips to his lips. “Sweet one. We can go whatever speed you like. I'm not in a rush. I'm here for you. Not for sex.”

He blinked up at her, a mingling of confusion and gratitude on his face. “I just...I just thought...I don't want to disappoint you.”

“There is no way you could ever disappoint me,” she said, and kissed him, sweetly, chastely.

“But you've had so many lovers-”

“And none of them were you. None of them could hold a candle to the man that you are. This might not be my first time ever, but it my first time with Cullen Rutherford.”

This seemed to be enough. He looked to her with an almost pleading expression in his eyes. Something like agony. “I don't know what I did right to be here, finally, with you. I've been waiting for you for so long,” he breathed, and when he kissed her it was anything but chaste. He moved to her and lay her back against the bed as they began their exploration anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys who ask permission to kiss you are hot. Shout out if you agree!
> 
> Any of my readers that came for the Cullen/Adaar still here? This was quite a long wait, wasn't it? In my defense, I didn't know it was going to happen until I had started writing. Thanks, Astlyr, always surprising me. I hope no one was eagerly hoping for smut. I'll tell you right now, this will never be a smut fic. I just don't write it. Sex scenes will always fade to black (as it were). I'll get that out there right now. However, I hope that you still found great enjoyment in the sweet Cullen lovin's. More to come, don't worry ;)
> 
> Also, the way to Astyr's heart is through weapons. Yes, I did borrow some lines from a few of Cullen's romance scenes. ;)
> 
> Also, the elven god issue continues to lurk in the background. How long can it carry on before it bubbles to the surface?
> 
> And how cute is Jones learning to be a badass from the two most badass women in the world?! The whole sequence with the shield rushing and changing direction was a reference to the game when I would have Astlyr charge, and she'd miss an enemy and go right off a cliff. She needs footwork. Of course, Cas was always doing that to, so maybe she's not the best teacher after all...
> 
> Who did you romance when you played DA:I? What was your favorite part?
> 
> One of my lovely readers drew some wonderful pictures of Astlyr! Check them out! If you ever feel the urge to draw any of the scenes etc from Old Gods please do! Just be sure to let me know so I can ogle it and share it with peeps!  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Sexy-Astlyr-529589468  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Astlyr-with-her-Dragon-Tooth-Pendant-529591849
> 
> Next: 5/14/15


	24. A New Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter Astlyr FINALLY got together with Cullen. After I had probably lost all but the most dedicated Cullen romance fans. To those who stayed, hats off to you! More adorable Cullen/Astlyr to come, never fear!

Part 24  
A New Path

“Did Cas know?”

“Of course. You try to keep anything from that woman. Besides, she has been my loyal friend for some time now. She would know if I was planning to change my standing drink order and the tavern, let alone whether I finally got up the nerve to kiss you.”

Astlyr lazily traced a scar on Cullen's chest. They lay, coiled in one another's limbs, enjoying the afterglow of their romantic interlude. The first of many Astlyr hoped. Both were completely nude and wrapped warmly under Cullen's blankets. They had found that cuddling was rendered slightly awkward by Astlyr's horns, but they managed. She had draped herself partially atop him. Cullen ran his hand gently up and down on her breast bone. “I expect Cole knew as well,” Astlyr sighed. There was no keeping secrets from her Spirit Companion, that was certain. At least she was reasonably assured he would not have been privy to her thoughts while she and Cullen got to know one another. She had felt nothing by happiness.

“Where did you get this one?” Cullen asked, brushing a kiss to her shoulder where a small, round scar was visible against her darker skin.

“I fell off my pony when I was a child. It was at a trot as well, and I landed right on my shoulder.” she chuckled, “No grand story behind that one. In fact, most of my scars are from doing stupid or clumsy things. Especially when I hit puberty and really started growing. Most of these are from fights, though” she held up her hand where her skin was a latticework of scars. Long and short, wide and ugly. Her hands were about as far from dainty and feminine as they could get. Callouses stood out on her thumb and palm from sword or shield. Cullen laced his fingers with hers so that their palms were touching and she felt his callouses. His hands too were pocked with scars from many fights.

“What about this one?” she pointed out the favorite of hers, the scar on his lip.

“That one,” Cullen gave a mirthless laugh. “Knight Commander Meredith. I wouldn't follow her orders any more. She backhanded me across the mouth with her gauntlet on.”

Astlyr bristled, “I assume you retaliated?”

“She was my commander, even if I was defecting from her,” he shrugged.

Astlyr gave him a long kiss, trying to gift him all of her steadfastness. All of her reassurance. She felt him gentle at her touch and she knew he was happy. She tucked a strand of her hair, which was loose and hanging down onto his naked chest, behind an ear. She looked up into his gold-flecked eyes again, “I'm sorry if I brought up a painful memory,” she said.

“I hardly noticed,” he smiled with an expression of relaxed bliss on his face.

“Speaking of memory,” she said, her voice teasing now, “you mentioned something about doing other things with women when we began our own little escapade. Did you have a beau once?” Astlyr was not certain what a templar might call the woman he was with, but she decided 'beau' was probably closest. She could not see him taking a 'lover'.

“There was a mage,” he admitted, the sweet touch of a blush once again lightly tinting his cheeks. “It was back in the Fereldan circle, before...everything. I was young, she was young. She was also determined. Wouldn't take my horrible stammering and fleeing as an answer.”

“So you were always this awkward around women?” Astlyr rested her cheek against his chest, careful not to scrape his chin with a horn.

“Maker, yes,” he groaned, running his hand through her hair, absently. “I loath the courtship part. Perhaps that is why I am drawn to strong women. Someone who doesn't leave it up to me all the time.”

“So who was this other woman? And what became of her?” Astlyr made a show of looking suspicious.

“You know, honestly, I don't know what happened to her. I think she died when the circle was overrun. She might have become an abomination, though I like to imagine she went down fighting instead. She had strong feelings against blood magic, at any rate.”

“What was she like?”

“She was very bright, one of the most skilled young mages in the circle. A little bit serious. Pretty. She was a redhead.”

“Damn redheads,” Astlyr snapped in mock annoyance, bringing her fist down lightly on the bed beside Cullen. “Always stealing the men from us perfectly decent white haired people.”

“It's really more of a silver,” Cullen mused, raising his hand, still tangled as it was with her hair. “I think I like this better, if I'm honest.”

“Good,” Astlyr smirked, then began to slowly extricate herself from her new lover's limbs.

“What are you up to?” Cullen asked, watching her. He put one hand behind his head as she scanned the room for her clothes. 

“I think my shirt fell off the loft,” she grumbled, also spotting only one boot. She rolled over, laying on her back beside him. The two of them barely fit on his bed in this position.

“Astlyr?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you suppose you had better stop by the infirmary today?”

She let a little smirk claim her lips, “do you think you hurt me, Cullen? You were very gentle.”

He chuckled, “No. I mean, in case of...you know, unwanted consequences.”

“Oh,” she understood him. “I honestly have no idea if humans and qunari can interbreed. I'll have to ask Bull.”

“Maker, that'll be fun,” Cullen said sarcastically. “Remind me to have important business on the other side of Skyhold when you reveal the details of our romance to the gigantic mercenary you used to be with.”

“Don't worry, Cullen,” she found his hand and patted it before tangling her fingers with his under the blanket, “Iron Bull will be alright with us. I'm certain. However, if you'd rather, I'll be certain to see the healer for some pregnancy prevention herbs.”

“Thank you,” Cullen gave her hand a squeeze. “I think I might like to be a father someday, but now is too soon. I have a fortress to run.”

Astlyr chuckled, imagining Cullen trying to ride herd on several rambunctious children and still be the stoic commander of Skyhold's military. It was a humorous scenario indeed. Then Astlyr squinted as something else caught her attention, “Maker, Cullen, who fixed your roof?”

“I did,” he admitted, sounding sheepish.

“Well, you did a rubbish job,” she laughed. “No wonder it is so damn cold in here all the time. Its a miracle your bed isn't a snowbank. I'll fix it for you.”

She had thought the man might protest. Stumble through some remarks about her being a woman, and it being dangerous. She wondered about Cullen at times. How stubbornly he held on to whatever training he had been given on the noble treatment of ladies. He seemed to have no such illusions with her. Instead he smiled, “That would be most helpful. Thank you.”

~~~~~

The pair remained in Cullen's room a bit longer until hunger forced them out. As they made their way down to the tavern Cullen fell a step behind for a moment. When Astlyr looked back he had a troubled expression on his face. She turned, watching him. “What is it?”

“I just...I was thinking about...about what we just did. I hate labels, and I don't want to cast a poll over this...us...”

“Oh for the Maker's sake, spit it out,” she chuckled, taking hold of his shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. “You and I had sex and you gave me a lovely shield. You're allowed to stop over-thinking everything you say to me and tripping all over your own thoughts.”

“Oh, I don't think that's going to happen in a hurry,” he smiled thinly. “I was just wondering; what are we now?”

“What are we?” she tilted her head.

“I...well, I just wanted to know if this was a one-time situation. A 'thank you for the excellent shield, Cullen.' If it was, I understand,” he was rubbing the back of his neck again and looking away.

“What do you want it to be?” she asked. Her throat felt tight and her hands had gone alarmingly clammy. She had thought he had meant them to be a couple now. Had she been wrong? Had a quick, if exciting, lay with a qunari been all he was after? Her mind cast back to those men she had slept with who had bragged to their friends that they had bedded the dragon lady. But Cullen wasn't like that, was he? She raised her chin. If he had merely been seeking a quick fling, that was alright. She was a warrior and The Inquisitor, and she could handle that sort of thing. She hadn't turned him away. It had been consentual and wonderful for them both, and if it was over, it had certainly been fun. But why was her heart beating too fast? Why was the thought of him declaring their time together to be a fling so abhorrent?

Cullen had moved to the inner ramparts and was looking down at the people of Skyhold going about their business. He rested his elbows on the stone, thoughtful. “I wanted...well, I had hoped that it might be more than a just once sort of thing. Not the sex,” he clarified hurriedly. “All of it. You and I. I had hoped...”

Astlyr decided it was time for a decisive, leaderly response. She took his hand firmly in hers and led him down the wall steps to the tavern without a word. He had the good sense to follow without protest. Inside people were enjoying an early supper and the amiable chatter filled the place to the rafters. Iron Bull and all his chargers had set themselves up in their usual corner and were singing an especially raunchy drinking song. Some of the other patrons were scooting farther away and the barkeep seemed to be pondering if he could get them to stop while keeping all his limbs intact, and coming to the conclusion that it wasn't worth the risk.

Down into the middle of this chaos Astlyr led Cullen, who followed willingly behind her. Once she had established the two of them in the center of the room, before the big fireplace, she turned to Cullen, grabbed hold of his collar, and pulled him in for a kiss.

This was a risky maneuver and she knew it. She knew the man valued his privacy, but neither of them were good with words. A demonstration of her intentions was in order and she wanted it on no uncertain terms. To be the strong woman he had claimed he desired. To her unending relief, after the first moment of bafflement, he kissed her back and he even managed to remember he had hands, which he wrapped around her, drawing her close to finish off strong.

After what both seemed to deem an adequate amount of time, they separated, looking around the room. Almost everyone in the place was grinning at them. Varric, who was above in the gallery on the second floor, leaned down to shout, “You owe me three gold coins, Tiny!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iron Bull grouched.

“Oh, what was the bet?” Astlyr asked, noticing with pleasure that, while they had stopped kissing, Cullen had not removed his arms from her waist.

“I didn't think old uptight templar would do anything public for a good week at least.” Iron Bull said. His crew fell into a flurry of agreement, or disagreement. Asltyr saw a few more coins change hands.

“Maker, did everyone in Skyhold know our business before we knew it?” Cullen asked, looking around at the crowded tavern.

“I'm afraid so, Curly,” Varric said, smirking.

“Nothing stays secret in Skyhold for long.” Astlyr shrugged, beaming just the same.

“Indeed. I should have remembered,” Cullen's mouth quirked in a smile of his own.

Astyr and the commander settled in for a good meal, and to take the barrage of heckling that came with their shiny new relationship. Astlyr was impressed. Cullen took it all in far better stride than she had expected. She was accustomed to her peoples' sense of humor. She shared it on most occasions, but she knew the templar could be sensitive at times. He must have been expecting the good-natured ribbings, however, and managed to smile through it all, though sometimes he did have to retreat behind his mug to regroup. Especially once Dorian joined them.

Astlyr noted that Titus was with her mage friend. The younger man was looking pale and a bit wan, but smiled willingly and even managed to lend a shy voice to the banter on occasion.

The night devolved quietly into a truly pleasant evening. Cullen moved off to speak with Titus and Dorian. Conversing quietly about the path they had chosen without lyrium. Astlyr found herself embroiled in another losing game of Wicked Grace when Josephine joined the group. At least this time they weren't betting items and clothing and Cullen was staying well out of it. Astlyr did notice with a gratified smile, that the handsome commander did shoot quite a few glances in her direction. She gave as good as she got.

~~~~

That night Astlyr lay in her warm bed smiling fondly as she thought back on her day. It was wonderful to have a whole day to recall fondly. She had to admit to herself that she was absurdly pleased that Cullen had finally worked up the nerve. In her time with Iron Bull she had never gotten that giddy, girlish feelingly of glee, which she caught herself indulging in several times through he night as she through of a certain templar. Perhaps her time with the commander would not lead to the ultimate conclusion she was used to from her relationships. Still, she wasn't ready to go handing him a dragon's tooth or anything. She peeked at her new shield, which she had propped on a chair so she could admire at as she got ready for sleep. The moonlight that shone through the balcony doors gleamed off of the perfect curve and she caught sight of the coin set in the metal. Finally her eyes fluttered closed and she fell into pleasant dreams of handsome templars.

~~~~~

“So we'll go by boat?” Astlyr leaned her weight on one arm against the table as she peered down to examine the map spread before her. Her other hand rested on her hip.

“Yes, until you reach this point,” Cullen, who stood across from her at the war table, indicated the route. “You'll disembark at a little port village called Carr's Way. You see, if you take this route, and follow the water inland, you'll reach the Western Approach much more quickly than you would if you traveled by land. You'll still have to ride southwest for a bit through the desert, but this should make things substantially easier.”

“I wish there was a port here,” Astlyr gestured to where the southern point of the Frostback mountains dipped their toes into the Waking Sea.

“Reaching that location by going over the mountains would lose you any time you gained by sea travel,” Josephine pointed out. “The Frostback Mountains in winter are extremely inhospitable, especially if you do not have a fortress to hide within.” She smiled at her little joke.

Astlyr rubbed her chin. “Won't going all the way to the Storm Coast be a waste of time as well? We'd have to backtrack, by sea or otherwise.”

“Indeed,” Cullen said, leaning down to indicate a little carved boat, which Astlyr suspected he had made specially for this briefing. She hid her smile as he guided the boat from The Storm Coast and up to the foot of the mountain range's eastern foot. “We have already sent word for a ship to meet you here. From there you can journey on to Carr's Way and the Western Approach.”

“You mean, you can journey on,” Cassandra entered the room, catching the last snippet of what the commander had said. Cas was not wearing her armor, instead favoring a plain tunic and sash to indicate her office as a high commander of Skyhold. Though one might have guessed this merely by the way she carried herself. “You will be accompanying The Inquisitor this time,” she informed Cullen.

“What?” Cullen raised his head from the map, eying Cassandra dubiously.

“As I said,” the warrior pressed on, one of her stern eyebrows peaking, “I will be remaining here as the military commander at Skyhold. It is my turn to put my feet up, and your turn to get your fancy boots dirty.”

“My boots are not fancy,” Cullen protested jokingly. He was smiling knowingly at Cas now, hazel eyes bright with an eagerness that Astlyr found endlessly endearing. “I know what you're doing Cassandra,” he said, “and you needn't.”

“No indeed?” The seeker stopped and examined the map, still carrying herself with the stiff, upright bearing of a general who expected to be obeyed.

“Really, Cas,” Astlyr put in. “Cullen and I have been apart loads of times, and this trip isn't some romantic getaway that we both deserve. It's another hard journey with little to no time for frivolity.”

“Then I suppose you shall have to find it where you can,” the seeker smirked, adjusting one of the clean leather dueling gloves she wore. These only added to the lordly effect of her attire.

“You're certain?” Astlyr could see Cullen losing the struggle with his smile.

“If you keep asking me, I may have to change my mind,” Cassandra warned, raising an eyebrow archly.

“Thank you, Cas,” Astlyr smiled at her friend, patting her shoulder firmly in a gesture that would have made a lesser woman flinch.

“Do we have anything to finalize here?” Cullen asked Josephine, who had moved to check the map, quill poised over her writing board as always.

“I do not believe so,” the diplomat said, absently brushing her lips with the feather of her pen. “The ship and crew have been hired, the destination planned. Supplies have been gathered and readied. You should be able to leave at any time.”

“Alright then,” said Cullen, his smile like a sunny day, “I had better go and gather my things, eh?”

“Indeed,” Astlyr said, feeling pleased to have her new lover along on their journey, but knowing she and the others would feel the absence of Cassandra's strong arm and steadfast logic. Cas had never been one for desert travel, Astlyr reminded herself as she shot her friend a quick look and a nod of gratitude. “I want to check with Fen quickly before we go, just in case he has anything to add at the last minute.”

“Right,” Cullen said, “I hope he managed to get some sleep. He looked a bit out of sorts yesterday.”

Astlyr moved off towards the elf god's quarters. A pair of guards were still stationed outside the rooms where Ghilan'nain was being housed. Astlyr had not seen much of the halla goddess since she had come to Skyhold. Astlyr wondered if she should pay a visit. Would she be welcome? She didn't even speak the same language. Perhaps when they returned with another foci she would make some time to speak with the goddess, with Fen'Harel as translator.

“Fen?” She tapped on his door as she opened it and stuck her head inside. Fen'Harel was there, carefully placing maps into a traveling bag. He had not even unpacked half of his gear from their last outing. Astlyr might have scolded him, reminding her friend that all gear should be unpacked and cleaned between trips, but then she would have to admit that she had been to distracted to do that with her own. Damn that highly distracting templar. Her lips still twitched in a smile as she thought of him. “Good morning,” she said when Fen did not look up.

Finally the elf turned slightly, giving her a quick smile before returning his focus to his papers. “I hope the morning finds you well, my friend.”

“The others are all preparing to go, but I wanted to make certain you had not thought of anything else that we should know,” Astlyr strode across to him and leaned against the back of a chair, facing him. His slender fingers shuffled busily through the parchment, checking and re-checking. “How has Ghilan'nain been coping?”

Fen'Harel ran his hand through his hair, pulling it back from is face. He needed a haircut. His brown curls were long enough to hold back in a ponytail. She wondered if he enjoyed having it. With Solas he had kept his hair trimmed down to nothing. He looked up at her, finally making full eye contact. He still appeared a bit wan, but better rested than the day before. He seemed tense, still on edge. “She is unused spending her time behind stone walls. Even in the days of the elvhen she preferred the outdoors...well, what I can remember of her. There are still too many gaps in my memory for my liking,” he admitted, sighing and leaving his papers alone, the ends sticking up from the top of his satchel. He flopped down in the chair on which Astlyr leaned and tilted his head back, eying the ceiling as if for answers.

“Are you alright?” Astlyr questioned, nudging his shoulder.

“Yes...no. Yes. Physically I am well, but I have been troubled,” he admitted, his voice tight, unwilling. Astlyr recalled how he had behaved when he had asked for her aid with the spirit of Wisdom. How challenging he found it to seek help. Ages alone had clearly taught the Dread Wolf to trust no one's abilities save his own. “There are large pieces of my past still missing. So much has come back with clarity, yet some things refuse to return to me.”

“Didn't Cole say something about Mythal taking parts of your memory?” Astlyr reminded him.

He huffed; a sound like someone had punched his air from him as he slouched in the chair. “I know. I had hoped that it was not true. That the gaps would be filled. Instead there is only blackness, especially with my early past and my days with my fellow gods and the elvhen. I have clear memories of my time with the Inquisition,” he said hastily, as though she might be worried he was going crazy. “I'm sorry. I should not trouble you with this. Not now. We have important tasks at hand.”

“Trouble me,” Astlyr said, nudging him again with her arm. “It's what I'm for. I'm not the best leader. I don't know what I'm doing most of the time, but at least I have learned that I can listen to my people.”

“Your people?” he looked up at her, his eyes seemed almost unnaturally blue. He chuckled dryly, “I have always been the one who watches over. The god. The guardian. I am still not used to being considered someone else's person.”

“Well, I don't own you or anything,” Astlyr said, putting up her hand in a forestalling motion. She wasn't in a hurry to imply slavery. “I mean it is my responsibility to protect you and make certain you are alright.”

“And that,” said Fen'Harel, in a low voice, “Is something which I must grow accustomed to. You should know, Astlyr, that I have a bad habit of looking for an exit. An exploit. Though I may trust you, my mind still spends an alarming amount of time wondering how to extricate myself, should things turn sour. Everything has, without fail, for so many years. I have survived by being cleverer than everyone around me for so long-”

“Well, you are almost certainly cleverer than me,” Astlyr assured him with a grin. “And should things go sideways I have no doubt you could get yourself clear without much trouble at all. But when Corypheus threatened, you stayed. You could have walked your own path and come in at the end to gather up your orb. Instead you stayed and walked with us. You may come up with escape plans, but you have chosen not to act on them. I'm not worried.”

She expected him to assure her that she should be worried. That she should not trust him. Instead he stood, stretching his back and standing taller than he had been. He finished tucking the papers into the satchel. He said nothing for a long moment, placing the strap of the satchel over his shoulder he turned and gave her a quick nod which she understood to be both an indication of his readiness to depart, and his gratitude for her acceptance.

~~~~~

The group was to muster in the forge once again, though as she and Fen'Harel made their way, speaking little, she heard someone calling to her. Dorian hurried up and Astlyr indicated that Fen should walk on to the muster without her. When the elf had gone she turned to the Tevinter mage. “What's on your mind, Dorian?” she asked.

“I have a favor to ask of you, M'gel,” he said. His careful use of her pet name was not lost on Astlyr.

“What's up?” she stopped walking and faced her friend.

“I...well I hate to ask this because I know you rely on me as one of your best mages,” he gave her a quick, cheeky wink. “Not to mention resident charmer and the only one with any fashion sense-”

“Dorian,” she grasped his arm, laughing. “What was it you wanted?”

“Er, yes. I was wondering if I might beg off of this particular adventure. You see, Titus still has a long road ahead and I did rather promise to be there for the lad as much as I could. I know you will feel the loss greatly.”

“We will, I have no doubt in my mind,” Astlyr said, still holding her friend's arm warmly. “Of course I understand. You should be there for Titus. Especially with Cullen going with us.”

“Is he?” Dorian beamed, “Maker, it took the two of you long enough to make it official! I heard you were all over each other in the tavern last night, right before I got there. I missed it, Maker blast it all! I had been starting to ponder if I might have to magically intervene with the two of you. You warrior types are always so stoic, its a wonder you ever get together at all.”

“All over each other at the tavern?” Astlyr folded her arms.

“Mention was made of a good deal of tongue.” Dorian waggled his eyebrows expressively.

Astlyr swatted his arm, “and I imagine you are single-handedly keeping that rumor circulating. I know you were rooting for us.”

“Me'gel, I was the captain of your cheering team.” She wasn't certain his grin could get any wider. He looked ready to bubble over with happiness and it made Astlyr feel as if she could do the same. She wouldn't admit now, but she would truly miss having her dear friend at her side on this mission, possibly the longest she would be gone without him in some time.

“I wish you and Titus the best of luck. Take care,” she said, warmly clasping his hands.

Dorian hugged her. She wasn't overly fond of hugs, and seldom had opportunity to share them, but Dorian's always felt right. A no strings attached embrace which never failed to fill her with a warm reassurance. She hoped, as she returned the gesture, that some of her own strength could find its way into her friend. He would need it as he helped his lover cope with the deadly withdrawal from lyrium. They broke apart and he gave her another beaming grin, his eyes nearly lost in laugh lines. “Thank you, M'gel. Have a safe journey. I know you'll never be as safe as I would like, without me to watch over you.”

“Get out of here and see to your man,” she scolded the mage.

“Right you are,” he said before turning and heading back into Skyhold, waving absently over his shoulder as though she were merely going to lunch, not on a lengthy journey.

Astlyr was still smiling as she strode out of the fortress, bound for the forge to gather her people again.

~~~~~~

Astlyr reluctantly handed Smoke's reins to the stable boy who had ridden with them to meet the ship which would take them closer to the Western Approach. There was no room for horses on the ship, not to mention, in full winter coats of fur, the poor animals would have been no match for the desert heat. No, upon arrival in The Approach Astlyr and her people would be given new mounts to use until their mission was completed.

After she had said her goodbyes to her horse, with the aid of several sugar cubes, she turned to take in the ship. It was anchored well back from the pebbled shoreline. There was no port here, so the ship remained in the deeper waters and three longboats were sent out to collect Astlyr's party and their supplies. The captain had even come ashore to greet his prestigious passengers. Astlyr had groaned inwardly when she saw the flag they flew. The sunburst. “Andrastians,” she grouched. Just what she needed. A whole ship full of people to bow and scrape and think her some kind of religious icon.

The captain stepped ashore and walked straight to Astlyr, with no sign of unease. This was unusual. Very few people met Astlyr without first having to steel themselves, or showing intimidation in some way. She decided she liked this man as he extended a weather-worn hand for her to shake. He was tall, for a human, and well muscled. Perhaps in his mid to late forties, his trimmed beard was flecked with grey, as was his long hair which was tied back in a ponytail. She did note that he wore the sunburst emblem on the cuffs of his coat sleeves, but he did not address her as The Herald. “Welcome, Inquisitor,” he said, in a the loud, pleasant drawl of one accustomed to giving orders.

“Hello, Captain Kale,” Cullen stepped forward, warmly taking the man's hands.

“It can't be young Cullen? No! Maker bless me it is!” the man addressed as Kale fairly cheered.

“You know one another?” Astlyr surmised as she watched the two men.

“Kale's ship was the one that brought me from my old posting in Fereldan to Kirkwall,” Cullen explained.

“I heard that didn't work out for you, lad. I'm sorry for that,” Kale said with warm sincerity.

“I like him,” Cole was standing beside Astlyr now, and several of the crew which had come ashore with their captain jumped at his sudden appearance.

“Now then,” Kale cast a baleful eye over his men. A warning, Astlyr recognized. “You were all told we would have the company of a spirit. You've heard tales of young master Cole, I'm certain. How he helped save the world.”

The men and women who were loading the supplies into the longboats put their heads down and bent their backs to their work, looking admonished. “It's alright,” said Cole, good-natured as ever. “Lot's of people are afraid of me.” He leaned closer to Astlyr, “I could make them forget, but the captain would not like it.”

“I think you're right to let them get over you on their own. You're letting them all see you?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth, watching as Cullen took a moment to reconnect with the captain.

“I thought it would be best,” Cole replied, watching the crew go about their business with efficiency. “It will be difficult to keep myself hidden from them on board the ship, especially because they all knew I would be coming, and if I shouldn't make them forget...”

“Ah,” Astlyr nodded, “I think you're right, Cole. Alright, ladies and gents,” she addressed her own people, who had finished unpacking their horses and sent the beasts on their way back to Skyhold with the stable man. “Let's help these nice people load up their boat and we'll be on our way.”

“Ship,” grumbled Varric, throwing a bag of weapons over his shoulder and carrying it to a waiting longboat. “Never did like ships. The trip over from Kirkwall was bad enough. I should have found a reason to stay home like Sparkler.”

Astlyr knew her dwarvish friend was mostly joking. Astlyr herself had crossed the Waking Sea once. She had been born and raised in the Marches and had saved enough money with her mercenary work to hop on a passenger vessel over to Fereldan a few years before the events of the conclave. The ship she had taken then was larger than the one that waited for them now, but she suspected she would feel the same way about it.

“People crush together below decks, like a tomb. I don't like the feel of the closeness. It stifles, strangles and I struggle free. The captain lets me sleep on the deck,” Cole caught her discomfort without even looking up. As if reading her were as natural as breathing.

The boy was completely correct of course, but she made an effort not to think about those things now as she stepped gingerly into a longboat, careful of her weight and how it was distributed. No use capsizing before she even got to the ship. Not to mention the water would be absolutely deadly if anyone spent more than a few moments in it. The Waking Sea was a busy sea. The waters in constant motion as though ever stirred by some massive, invisible hand. The real danger was the cold. One tumble into that water and you wouldn't recover quickly. A few drops splashed Astlyr's leg as the boat got under way and she flinched as the frigid droplets soaked through her clothes.

The ship itself was covered in a thin sheen of ice on the outer hull. Anyplace the water touched was left shimmering as though it was made of glass. The vessel was called The Griffon and the prow from the break to the keel was equipped with metal plating, almost like a blade, no doubt meant to break or shunt aside any floating ice The Griffon might encounter.

Rope ladders came tumbling over the side of the rail down to the longboats. Above, Astlyr saw crewmen waiting to help the the newcomers onto the deck. Astlyr climbed carefully. Already the ladders were slick as the water below spattered them. 

“Welcome back, Captain,” a woman came forward. She wore a sealskin long-coat with a fur lined hood and had a rangy, native look. Her dark eyes roved over Astlyr and her people as they climbed one by one from the boats.

“Thank you, Finna. Inquisitor, this is Finna, my first mate.” Captain Kale introduced.

“What happened to that other fellow, Benji, was it?” Cullen asked as Finna moved to firmly shake hands.

“Retired,” Captain Kale said. “Lucky for me, young Finna here was available. I couldn't ask for better.”

“Flatterer,” she scolded. “You can keep your silver talk to yourself, sir.”

The captain slapped a hand to his chest as though she had wounded him deeply, making a show of staggering back on the icy deck. “She's a feisty one. Watch yourself, lad,” the man elbowed Cullen playfully.

Astlyr bit back a chuckle at Cullen being called 'lad'. He certainly wasn't as old as Kale, but the commander had left his 'lad' years well behind him. Suddenly the first mate rushed forward, eyes wide with excitement. Astlyr turned to see that Cole had climbed onto the deck. The boy had chosen to use the ladder rather than teleporting for fear of startling the crew. “Is this him?!” Fenna asked eagerly. Her hands hovered as though she was aching to touch Cole.

“You may,” the spirit boy said, holding out a hand.

Finna grasped Cole's offered hand in both of hers, flipping it over, then touching his sleeve in wonder. “Gods,” he exhaled in obvious awe. “And you're not a human body with a spirit inside? You're spirit alone?”

“Yes,” Cole answered, patiently tolerating the woman's odd adoration. “I chose to look like a human I met once,” his voice hitched marginally when he spoke of the original Cole, but Astlyr doubted anyone else noticed.

“What is going on?” Varric finally achieved the deck and took in the odd sight as the woman pulled gently on the brim of Cole's hat and grinned.

“She's Avvar,” explained the captain, watching with a bemused expression. “They fancy spirits are sort of...godlike or something.”

Fen'Harel and Myfanwy came next and both took in the unusual scene. Now a few more crew members were pausing in their work to see what the fuss was all about. Astlyr was intrigued by an Avvaran woman on an obviously Andrastian vessel, but as she glanced around she noted that not everyone was wearing the sunburst symbol as openly as the captain. Perhaps, she thought with some relief, she would not be addressed as The Herald at every turn after all.

“I believe that spirits, as we know them now, are wise and good,” Finna clarified, “and can lead us closer to our deities.”

“And what of demons?” asked Fen, obviously curious. Astlyr wondered how much contact he had had with the Frostback natives in his time.

“The corrupted spirits,” Finna shot Fen'Harel a quick glare, “are forged by we humans and our folly. We avvar are extremely watchful for them and remain ever vigilant that our mages do not tempt such creatures.”

It was obvious that Fen'Harel was eager to continue the conversation, his curiosity piqued, but the captain interrupted before he could press on. “This is a lovely lesson,” he said, looking bemused, “but I think it best we get under way. Finna, if you would.”

“Right you are, Captain,” Finna ceased her eager scrutiny of Cole and turned to address the crew. The longboats had been pulled up into place at the ship's sides, like ducklings come to rest beneath a mother's wings, and the first mate began to shout; “Alright you lubbers, let's see that anchor weighed! Up in those shrouds you lot, run out the sheets! Stow our passengers and their gear below decks, and look sharp about it! Move lads, or I'll flay you alive and use yer guts to give The Griffin a new coat of paint!”

Astlyr chuckled at the avvaran woman's turn of phrase as she set about helping the crewmen bring their gear below. She was startled by a qunari striding up from below decks. It was a male, and his skin seemed to be a combination of the more classic grey, and the brown which Astlyr bore. He was muscular, though not as much as Iron Bull. If Astlyr had to guess she would estimate him to be in his late teens, or perhaps early twenties. One of his horns was completely missing and the other resembled Astlyr's in that it swept back along his head rather than sticking out to the side like Iron Bull's. She opened her mouth to speak to this, the fourth member of her kind that she had ever met, but he gave her such a glare that she snapped her mouth shut again. He shouldered past her without a word.

“What's his problem?” Asked Varric, pulling a pack over his shoulder to carry it below.

“That's Six,” Explained one of the crewmen with a shrug. “Don't know why he's being so prickly. He's usually a ray of sunshine.”

Judging by the laughter which followed this statement Astlyr guessed that 'Six' was not renowned for his jollity. She shook her head and loaded several packs onto her own shoulders as Six moved to weigh the anchor. He soon had the great wheel which coiled the thick anchor chain turning all by himself. His fellow crewman cheered him until a glare from Finna set them to work again.

It turned out that taking their supplies below decks was quickly achieved. As soon as Cole had been down once he was able to teleport back and forth, rendering even Astlyr's superior strength a bit pointless. She finally just went back out onto the quarterdeck. The crew wasted no time getting The Griffon up to speed. Icy spray rushed in Astlyr's face and in spite of the constant bucking and rocking of the vessel, which made her feel decidedly unsteady, she still enjoyed the feeling of freedom as the wind took the sails and they were well and truly on their way to another adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the traveling chapters begin! Hey, at least they're traveling by sea. That's different. I hate just teleporting characters places (except Cole haha). I think the travel time is valuable too. But we'll see what you think next chapter. Don't worry, there will be excitement and gooey character stuff to go along with a nice sea voyage.
> 
> And avvar! How exciting is that?! Have any of you played the Jaws of Hakkon DLC? What do you think of the avvar? Even if you haven't played the DLC, what do you think of them? You know that Fen totally cornered Finna later and had a long conversation about spirits and gods. You all know it to be true ;)
> 
> So....the redheaded mage that chased Cullen in his youth is totally based on a good friend of mine's mage character. She is a wee, tiny, itty, bit OBSESSED with Cullen, so she had to make a cameo. But sorry, she died in the tower (probably) because the Hero of Fereldan was someone else. Perhaps she escaped, who knows, but she better stay away from Cullen, because he belongs to Astlyr now! Haha
> 
> Just a heads up, I have been given a new project for work which is going to eat up a lot of my time. It might cut back on my writing time especially. I'll be certain to let you know if I have to skip a week, or if chapters will be late. To keep updated check out my author page too: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> Check out the repaint of the cover art here: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/The-New-Ways-of-Old-Gods-Cover-art-V-2-532350117
> 
> Next: 5/14/15


	25. The Griffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited for content 5/23/15
> 
> Woo hoo, travel chapter. Hopefully it'll be exciting enough for y'all. Let's have some character building weeks at sea!

Part 25  
The Griffin

The next few days aboard The Griffon were rather unpleasant for Astlyr and her people. Cullen and Myfanwy were the worst hit by sea sickness and spent much of their time curled up below decks suffering, though Cole was diligently at their sides to offer help and the use of his soothing magics. Astlyr found she had little tolerance for being below. The ceiling was low ever for a human, and she was constantly striking her horns on beams and hanging lanterns. That, coupled with a deep feeling of claustrophobia, kept her on the deck at almost all times. She could only be persuaded to go below to briefly visit poor Cullen and to eat when invited to the captain's cabin for dinner.

At least Cullen had been given his own small cabin, rather than bunking with the rest of the crew, as the others did. Astlyr was offered the same, but she declined, preferring to sleep on the deck, no matter how chilly it became at night. Below decks not an ounce of space was wasted and everything had a place. She knew that to make space for her to have her own accommodations would destroy the harmonious setup so she felt she had made the right choice on all counts. She wrapped herself in furs and a boat-cloak of sealskin and settled in, often in a seated position so as to be out of the way of the crew. Few bothered her, as their own qunari, Six, had the same proclivities. He too seldom ventured below if he could help it. Astlyr attempted conversation with Six several times as they both settled in for a night under cold stars, but he merely glared or grunted.

“It's because you're a female,” Finna explained the next day as the two women leaned against the railing watching the roiling sea seem to attack the ship. The Griffon was a bluff little vessel and surged through the choppy waters as easily as she might have a calm sea.

“Because I'm female?” Astlyr cocked her head.

“Six is Tal-Vashoth, but he was raised in the qun. Went a bit bonkers after a while though, I'm told. He was obsessed with being the best at his duties and even pulled out of his own horns in an attempt to be more highly valued.”

Astlyr winced. Six didn't sound terribly stable. Was he really the sort of person one wanted to have with you in a tightly enclosed, floating society? “I think I have heard that some qunari are born hornless,” she said, opting to be diplomatic.

“And them without horns are considered to be special. Some qunari even cut off their horns to try to be more like them. Six went the extra mile and pulled one of his right out. Pain must have been pretty bad though. He didn't do the other.” Finna chuckled as though this were perfectly normal behavior. “'Course they sent him to be reprogrammed and he went through the system, but I guess it didn't stick because he ran off not long after.”

“What does this have to do with my being female?” Astlyr asked, wiping a bit of salt spray from her cheek before it could freeze there. Her skin was already getting quite rough after only a few nights of sleeping on the deck.

“Qunari think that females can never be warriors. Can never be anything but what their gender roles assign. You're not only a renowned warrior, but you're also 'The Herald'. It doesn't mesh with his world view, so he settles for being extra sullen with you.” Finna leaned back, gripping the rail as she scrutinized a knot above her in the shrouds. Satisfied that it was not coming loose she turned back to Astlyr.

Astlyr sighed, but decided that this was all she could really content herself with. If Six wanted to treat her differently that was his problem. “I thought he left the qun.”

“Some things are more ingrained than others,” Finna shrugged.

“Does he feel that way about the other women on board?”

“Nah. We're not qunari,” Finna said, smiling a little cheekily.

“Oh I am blessed,” Astlyr snarked. Finna chuckled and gave Astlyr's arm a friendly punch. “So what is it like as an Avvar so far from your clan?” Astlyr questioned then, glancing sideways at the woman. She had not seen many Avvar, but best she could tell Finna had the look. Muscular and tall with high cheekbones. Her skin might have been pale once, but it was stained tan by months at sea. She wore no facepaint, unlike the other Avvar that Astlyr had met.

“My people don't think much of my chosen profession,” Finna admitted with a wan smile. “I never much fit in with my clan. I've had wanderlust since I was a child. Left as soon as I was able, before some man could get it into his head to come and try to marry me. I was never the marrying type,” she chuckled.

Astlyr recalled hearing somewhere that Avvar matrimony was a complicated affair involving knots being untied and a ritual song being sung. She decided not to press, as Finna seemed completely content here, aboard The Griffon. “How do you find the chantry folk?” she asked instead, gesturing to the sunburst flag which flew above them, whipping noisily in the harsh wind.

“Good sorts, for the most part. Bit funny about some things, but that's anyone, really,” Finna said, letting her hood fall back to reveal a nutmeg brown braid. “Some can be a bit much at times. Especially when they find out how the Avvar feel about spirits. They come around, of course. And you're their Herald eh? What's that like?”

“Interesting,” Astlyr said with a was smile. “It's strange to be considered to be chosen of a deity that I don't even believe in. I hate the bowing and scraping. Most of the Chantry folk I deal with are used to me. I won't claim to be the Herald, but if they insist on believing it, and it gives them some kind of comfort, I won't go out of my way to ruin their faith.”

“Sounds like that's about all you can do,” Finna said, shrugging angular shoulders. Then she turned, shouting at a passing crewman, “Nori! You're two bells past due for your shift, you pathetic little sot! Get up that mast and relieve Lika or I'll skin you alive and wear your face as a new hat!” The woman gave Astlyr a quick smile and roll of her eyes before hurrying off to deal with other unruly crewmen.

Astlyr watched the Waking Sea churn all around them, laughing at the first officer's colorful language and idly wondering if she should try it out herself. The sea seemed to have a mind of its own, as did the wind, especially as they moved past the Frostbacks. Twice they had had to take in sail for fear the high and unpredictable winds would tear them, or even damage one of the ship's two masts. Soon enough the weather should begin to grow warm and they would move inland a bit as the sea broke off into a river, but for the moment the air remained frigid and unpredictable. Twice per day crewmen had to scrape the deck as a thin layer of ice formed, making the going treacherous. Yet the sea was entrancing, in its own way. Each choppy wave wore a cap of white like a range of tiny, shifting mountains, and the sky was bluer than Astlyr had seen in a long while.

“It is beautiful, isn't it?”

Astlyr turned. Cullen had come up onto the deck. He was wrapped in a blanket and looked a bit green around the edges, but smiled warmly at her. He walked to her and leaned against her shoulder, looking out over the rail. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the icy air refresh him.

“How are you feeling?” Astlyr questioned, watching his still features. She liked the way the sun washed over his skin, even if it was a little pale at the moment. The frigid air pushed back his hair and made the tops of his ears turn pink.

“I'm getting better. Every time I step off a ship I lose my sea legs instantly. I suppose I am just more of a land dweller,” he sighed.

Astlyr rested her cheek on the top of his head. “You sailed to Kirkwall only to have to turn around and come right back,” she recalled.

“Well, I was stationed there for a while, but after the whole Chantry and Circle situation over there I decided it was prudent to come back home.”

“I'll bet you regret that now,” Astlyr sighed.

“Not for a second,” his fingers found hers and interlaced. A passing crewman saw them and made a lewd remark, but walked on in a hurry when he was met with a warning glare from Astlyr.

“How are things below?” she asked.

“Well, Varric is taking over, essentially,” Cullen reported, not moving from his position tucked in against her. “He's got everyone playing Wicked Grace every night and has himself set up as some kind gambling official. He oversees all the games and collects a cut of the winnings.”

“And no one had caught on?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I am certain they have, but they don't seem to care. He's taken young Myfanwy under his wing and she's his partner in crime already. I suspect he's a bad influence, but I don't have the energy to stop him,” he chuckled dryly. “As you know, Cole has been helping us with the seasickness, though we are, for the most part, recovered. I'm taking a bit longer because of the damned lyrium,” he waved his free hand in an annoyed gesture. “It takes me longer to recover from illness and wounds since I stopped taking it.” Astlyr made a sympathetic sound but he gestured away her concern as well. “I don't regret stopping for a second. It's the way I live now, plain and simple. No use pitying me for every little thing.”

“Right. No more pity,” Astlyr said, trying her best to sound stoney. She kissed the top of his head, at the same time, so she wasn't certain her tone convinced him of anything. His stiffened suddenly, pulling away. “What is it?” she asked.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and he sounded it. “I'm still getting used to...well, to your height. Please don't be insulted,” he added hastily, looking up at her with pleading eyes, “This is my issue and I need to come to terms with it. You're the woman I want, and if you're a bit taller than I fist envisioned myself with, well then I am the one who needs to change my view.”

Astlyr found that she was beaming. She gave him a one-armed hug, and was careful not to place her cheek back onto the top of his head. She could help him get over the notion as well, she decided. She pressed on with the conversation, knowing neither of them needed to linger. “So Cole's been helping and Varric is teaching Myfanwy to gamble. How's Fen?” She had seen him up on deck plenty of times. He seemed to prefer it almost as much as she did. However, he seldom spoke to anyone, including her. True it had only been a few days, but she still felt his quiet absence.

“He seems well enough,” said Cullen, who seemed to have the same feeling on the subject as Astlyr. “I think we are all eager to have our feet on dry land again.”

“Well, the land we're heading onto is dry, that's for certain,” Astlyr chuckled. She picked absently at the varnish on the rail.

“I've never been in a true desert,” Cullen admitted. He gave a little shiver, “right now it sounds wonderful, but I imagine I will feel differently once I've spent a few days there.”

“The Approach is no Hissing Wastes,” Astlyr told him, “It could be much worse.”

“That's reassuring,” the templar snarked.

~~~~~

Slowly the weather grew warmed as The Griffon made its way well past the Frostbacks and into Orlaisian waters. They even saw a few ships, brightly colored sails flouting the sky. Count on the Orlaisian people to be flamboyant, even with their water craft. Astlyr, who was, as ever, on deck heard Six grunt as he too stopped to take in the smaller, sleeker vessels. “Probably hauling some spoiled Vints back and forth.” Astlyr jumped. These were the most words she had ever heard Six string together in her presence. She supposed he hated 'vints' more than he loathed a female qunari who didn't know her place. She smiled to herself. It was something.

The Griffin, already flying its chantry banners, also hoisted an Inquisition flag, just to be safe. This allowed them to sail freely past the few Orlaisian ports they saw. They did spy a few patrol ships out and about on the choppy waves, but no one stopped or threatened.

The mood aboard The Griffin was greatly improved as they sailed towards warmer climes. Cullen and Myfanwy had found their sea legs and often joined the crew on deck at dusk. Varric moved his card games from the hold and soon each evening was the site of general celebration and good-hearted competition. Music would even be played and sometimes there was dancing. 

The Griffin finally turned inland, following a deep and wide river which would lead them closer to the Wastes. The banks were sandy and high, eroded by the rushing salt waters. The weather was almost too warm during the day, but the evenings were still as busy as ever. One night Astlyr came aft after helping some of the crew tie down the foresail more securely to the bowsprit. She raised her brow as she saw two crewmen painting out a sloppy circle on the desk with thin white paint.

She guessed that this must be a fighting ring of some kind because several others stood to the side, already shirtless and flexing their muscles to show off. Varric was moving through the gathering crowd, getting a feel for how the betting on this event might go. Myfanwy followed along behind him.

“What is this?” Astlyr questioned one of the men she had been working with.

“We don't exactly have a name for it,” the man said, seeming pleased to have been addressed. By the expression of adoration on his face, Astlyr guessed that he was probably Andrastian. “The goal is to either pin your opponent so he can't get up, or to knock him down down bad he doesn't want to.” the man said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his raggedy coat and rocking back on his heels. “The captain is one of the best. He's a wily fighter, he is.”

Astlyr watched as the ring was finished, the paint as dry as it could get, considering the constant wash of spray that still found its way onto the deck. Then the first two fighters stepped up. The battle was fascinating. It wasn’t like any wrestling that Astlyr had ever seen. Punching and kicking was allowed. It also seemed to involve a decent amount of strategy and grappling. She guessed that she would be particularly poor at this style. With a blade she could best most, and certainly she could punch hard enough to cave in a man's face, but she knew neither of those skills would come in much handy here.

She noted, as the nights passed and the activity continued, that Six rarely fought and always won when he did so. He usually stood like a mountain, his foes raining blows upon him to little effect. Then he would merely grapple and pin, using his bulk against them. Only the bravest, or most foolish, tried Six.

Varric was in his element, moving through the crowd drumming up bets and excitement for each fight. Talking up the fighters, even making up details, much to the crew's amusement. “Why young Fester here was raised by two of the best and noblest fighters in all Fereldan! The famous “Slaying Sorrets!”

“Sorren,” the man corrected the dwarf. “My family name is Sorren.”

“As I said, the famous fighting Sorrens!”

The entire situation confused Cole greatly. “They don't want to hurt each other, yet they want to win a game where the goal is to hurt each other,” the boy said, on more than one occasion as he took in a match.

“It's a little like a practice match back home,” Astlyr offered the boy.

“Except you and Cassandra are trying to get better, not just beat each other,” Cole pointed out, tilting his head, his hat flopping as they watched the bout finish up with a pinning. Varric moved through the watchers, distributing winnings.

“Remember, Cole, the ship's healers, including Fen'Harel, are on hand to fix people up as soon as a match is over.” This was true and the most severe wound she had seen was a broken hand. There were many bruises, and some blood, but nothing overly dangerous. The boy seemed placated for the moment.

As she and Cole watched, awaiting the next bout, Cullen strode over and situated himself at her other side watching as the captain took his place to in the ring against an uncertain looking crewman. Varric and Myfanwy moved around the outside of the fight. The most money was, naturally, on the captain.

Captain Kale handily dispatched the fight. Quick punches combined with a skilled grapple ended the battle almost before it had begun. The crew laughed and cheered as their leader stepped coolly from the ring, clapping his opponent on the back. “Good fight Leena. You're getting better.”

“Thank you sir,” the woman said, looking pleased, even at her quick loss.

Astlyr tilted her head towards Cullen, “have you thought about giving it a try?”

“Maker, no,” the templar chuckled. “I fear I would be completely out of my league.”

“Me too,” she agreed, scrutinizing the crowd to see who would step up next. The sun was beginning to set between the distant Tevinter mountains to the north. The roiling waves shimmered with a ruby glow and Astlyr relished the fresh smell of the water. She turned her attention back to the ring where Six was now standing, shirtless and stoic, brown-grey skin achieving a sheen in the sunset light. No one seemed eager to try their luck against the man.

A smirk tugged the corner of Six's down-turned mouth. Astlyr wondered if most qunari ever smiled. Were all qunari supposed to be stoic, and she and Iron Bull an exception rather than the rule? Six's eyes scanned the crowd. Several crewmen chuckled, put up their hands to indicate that they would not challenge him. Then a small figure stepped gracefully into the ring. “Fen?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. The slender elf looked like a child before the qunari. Fen'Harel stripped off his tunic so he too was bare chested. He was pale, ribby, with lean muscle. Nothing to the rippling pecks and biceps of his opponent.

Astlyr glanced towards Myfanwy, who had hesitated in her duties of taking bets and was staring at her god with a mixture of concern and interest on her face. It was clear that the elven woman did not know how to feel about the situation.

Six did not looked pleased. His folded his arms and his usual scowl deepened. “I will not fight a mage. Especially one so...small.”

Fen'Harel shrugged, but did not remove himself from the ring. “I assure you, I will not use my magic against you in this, or any situation.”

Six made a scoffing sound, stepping back out of the ring. “I think not.”

“Suit yourself,” said one of the crewmen, taking Six's place in the ring. This man did not seem at all bothered by the fact that Fen was a mage. Instead Astlyr knew the sailor expected an easy win. The elf god looked neither capable nor intimidating. Fen bowed slightly to his new opponent, his shaggy curls falling over his face. His hair was getting longer, in need of being tied back.

Myfanwy made her way over to Astlyr as the match began. “We're not betting,” Cullen assured the woman.

Myfanwy shook her head slightly, and Astlyr knew that their friend had come to stand with them because she was nervous, even before Cole said as much. “Did Daveth have any skill with this sort of thing?” Astlyr questioned, watching the two men in the ring circle each other, legs bent and bodies tense with readiness for action.

“No,” Myfanwy answered, narrowing her eyes and lowering her voice, “but My Lord must because he seems to be winning.”

Astlyr looked back in time to see Fen'Harel score several skilled attacks and trip up his opponent as though the man were a bumbling yokel rather than a fellow fighter. The combat was over almost as quickly as the captain's. Astlyr whistled through her teeth, impressed.

A few more of the crew stepped forward, both men and women, to try the elf and Fen managed beat them all, though some were easier than others. Between each bout he used his magic to heal his own injuries and those of his opponents. Whatever anger they felt over losing was quickly replaced by amusement as another of their fellows tried and failed to best the elf.

Varric was making a killing as he darted around the deck, Myfanwy in tow, calling, “who will be next to try the elf? Who is he? Where did he come from? Surely you'll be able to best him! Or you?”

Finally Captain Kale stepped forward, eyes sparkling as he shucked off his long coat and flexed his arms, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Alright my small friend, time to try me on for size eh?”

“If you wish it,” Fen'Harel dipped his head, a smile playing at his lips. Varric and Myfanwy found themselves bustling again, inundated with bets from left and right. The captain was still the favorite, but only by a slim margin.

“Hey Six,” Kale called into the gathered watchers. The qunari's head and shoulders were visible above the heads of his fellows.

“Captain?”

“How 'bout if I can't beat this little elf, you give him a try?”

“Captain, he's a mage.” Six said, moving forward and frowning as deeply as ever.

“He hasn't used magic this whole time except to heal us up between fights. Don't be so damn picky. Don't make me order you, Six,” the captain was matching the qunari scowl for scowl, though Astlyr could detect a hint of mirth in Kale's tone. He was bating, poking Six with a verbal stick. “If he beats me he will have bested the best fighter on this ship besides you. Give him a shot.”

“Fine,” Six grumbled and expression darkening even further than Astlyr had thought possible. It was difficult to contain a laugh.

“Mages should be muffled, muted, captured, caught, cut,” Cole muttered, his eyes intent on Six. “Can't be trusted. They let mages run loose and demons follow after. Foolish Fereldans.”

Astyr pondered the boy's observation of Six's concerns as the captain and Fen'Harel began to circle one another.

The match began and it was obvious from the start that the captain was a cut above his crew. He had clearly been paying attention to Fen'Harel's previous bouts and caught on to the elf's style. Fen had to work much harder this time. The crew set up a wild din, cheering on their captain or Fen so loudly that Astlyr wondered how the combatants could concentrate. Even the crewmen who were on duty peered down from the rigging, or watched from above on the quarterdeck. Astlyr suspected that an enemy ship could probably sail right up to them and start firing arrows, and only then would the crew of The Griffon take notice.

The match lasted a long while, with both men scoring good hits and succeeding in pinning one another several times, but no definitive win was reached for almost half and hour. The sun had slunk lower and the long shadows of The Griffon's sails bathed the deck in shadow. Varric kept the tempo up in the watchers with his cometary, “Did you see that? Your captain almost had him that time. Oh! But he slipped away again, that elf is crafty!”

The pair fought on, but the captain was seeming to tire and Fen'Harel was pulling out more tricks that he had not used on his previous adversaries. Finally Fen managed to knock the captain to the boards one last time with a deft motion of arm and leg that Astlyr thought she had seen him use while casting, though this time no magic emerged. Kale, flat on his back and huffing for air, swiped a bloody knuckle across his brow and laughed, “alright. Alright young elf. You've got me!”

Astlyr his a smirk at the notion of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, being called 'young'. Any words from Varric on the subject of the win were drowned out by the shouts and cheering from the crew as they rushed to either congratulate the winner, or playfully scold their captain.

“Your turn then, Six,” Captain Kale said, gesturing to the qunari, who was looking uncomfortable.

“Should he face Six now, after beating so many of the others?” asked Finna, handing the captain back his coat. The man wiped his sweaty and bloody face on the garment before pulling it on. “Six is still fresh.”

“I think that is better,” Fen was wearing a cocky smile and Astlyr thought she caught sight of a sharp tooth behind his grinning lips. “It is the only way he will stand a chance.”

The crowd made an “Oooooo” of approval as Fen goaded the much larger Six to take the ring. The qunari did not seem enraged by the elf's words, but he moved silently to take his place inside the circle. This time a hush fell. No one looked eager to begin the betting.

Varric hurried to drum up interest. “Here it is, the match we've all been waiting for! Who will win? The mountain or the mole hill? The dragon or the wolf?”

Rationally one would have chosen Six, but having seen Fen'Harel best all comers, including their captain, the crew hesitated . If she was honest Astlyr was already pondering how she might use Fen'Harel's new found hand to hand fighting skills to her advantage in combat. Mages did not have much opportunity to grapple a foe, but perhaps she could find a way to make it work. A skilled military leader uses every advantage they can.

And then the fight began, without any further preamble. It was clear that Six had also been paying attention to Fen'Harel's earlier fights and stood ready to block his best attacks and take-downs, but Fen had other plans. Faced with the much larger opponent the elf hung back, moving skillfully out of the qunari's range. Six shot out a few experimental punches, which Fen'Harel easily avoided. A kick was likewise dodged. Astlyr realized she was leaning forward with interest.

Fen made his move then, darting in with a quick change of his stance, he kicked the inside of Six's forward leg, then retreated. A few members of the crew chuckled. This attack little phased the mammoth Six, but the qunari's gaze dropped momentarily, and in that moment Fen changed stances again and scored two quick punches to Six's head before getting clear.

“Qunari have a extra layer of bone at the front of their skulls!” Astlyr shouted to her friend before she could stop herself. “Don't bother with it.”

She saw Fen cut a look in her direction and wondered if it was one of thanks or annoyance as he darted nimbly away from another kick. “Get on with it!” someone in the crowd shouted, obviously already tired of Fen's non-confrontational antics.

“Belay that,” Scolded Finna, who was watching with a look of intense concentration. It was clear that she was taking mental notes for later.

Fen'Harel once again hopped inward for a strike to the inside of Six's knee. Then again a few moments later. Rapid kicks at Six's leg landing neatly, though they seemed to do little to the qunari, who struggled to keep up with the fast moving Fen. Still, even with Fen'Harel's avoidance Six managed to land a solid kick and a few punches, which the elf was almost unable to block with his hands before they struck his face. Beside her Astlyr felt Cole tense with each landed blow. She tucked the boy under her arm, which seemed to calm him.

Six's next kick was particularly bad, and it seemed all the god could do to keep his feet. Varric hastily worked the crowd up into another frenzy. More money changed hands. It was all Myfanwy could do to keep up with the industrious dwarf.

Fen'Harel recovered quickly and went back on the offensive, again and again with quick leg shots. First to the inside of Six's forward leg, then a fast and low roundhouse kick to the outside. For the first time Astlyr caught the flicker of pain on Six's dower features. The qunari did not change his stance however, swiping at Fen'Harel's head as the elf came in for another strike. This time Fen kept his head well back so the punch glanced off, striking only the hand the elf had raised to protect his jaw.

Six shot out two kicks and closed the distance between himself and Fen, obviously intending a grapple. The elf saw this and lunged forward, launching himself at the Qunari's shin, striking it with his shoulder and grasping his with a hand he pressed his lean body forward into Six's forward leg. The qunari toppled to the deck with a resounding slam. Fen'Harel tried to move back then, knowing he could not easily pin the much larger fighter. A kick struck Fen's defending arm and Astlyr heard his sharp intake of breath as he changed his stance to favor the arm.

The watchers roared with excitement again.

Fen was undaunted. As Six tried to rise he was met with a fast kick to that same knee, and this time it was obvious that it caused him pain. Six snarled, an expression of anger crossing his stoic features briefly. Asltyr wondered if she should warn Fen'Harel about the qunari blood rage. A nasty tendency to go berserk if needed. Six would no longer register any pain if he could get a good blood rage going, but it seemed as if he was succeeding in keeping his head. He managed to get to his feet with a grunt, facing down Fen'Harel again. Astlyr was impressed. She would not have pegged Six as someone to demonstrate a lot of control. Her eyes were drawn to his single horn. Though Six seemed to be handling himself, she still felt her own muscles tense. She would intervene if needed, and match him blood rage for blood rage.

The fight continued in this fashion. Fen'Harel focusing on low attacks, striking Six's knee whenever he could. Twice he was almost grappled, which would spell the end of the match for certain. There was no way the elf could match the qunari for strength. Eventually it was clear that both were getting worn down. Fen'Harel had taken a few more punches he was unable to block and was bleeding from his temple, tinting his curls with crimson. However, it was obvious that his continued attacks on Six's knee were having the desired effect. The qunari had attempted to change his stance to compensate for the joint, and was much clumsier with his off hand.

Fen managed a few more quick take-downs in similar fashion to the first. Low, fast attacks which plucked his larger foe off his feet. Repeatedly slamming into the deck was finally beginning to wind the qunari. He had bruises already starting on his elbows and shoulder blades. The bluish color an odd contrast to his skin tone. Astlyr half expected that any minute the young qunari would decide enough as enough and snap the elf in two. But Six seemed surprisingly honorable. Though he would use his size and strength to his advantage, he kept his dangerous anger under control. Astlyr kept the corner of her eye on Cole, who was still tucked under her arm. The boy was tense, but much less than she might have expected. She knew she should not worry over this match unless he saw her spirit friend looking much more upset.

The fight was lasting such a long time that the sun had set, leaving the sky with only a blush to remind them that it had been. Lanterns were brought out onto the deck and held by various onlookers. No one dared set their lantern down, for fear it might be overturned by one of the fighters. Varric found himself challenged now to keep up the enthusiasm as the fighters slowed, wearied by exhaustion and wounds.

Fen'Harel seemed to gather himself and moved in again, obviously intent on the leg he had been weakening all evening. This time Six was ready. Astlyr had to bite back a concerned exclamation as Six grappled Fen'Harel. The stronger fighter won out in this situation and she knew it. Six forced Fen down and pinned him without much effort, though Fen threw in a few punches as best he could. Astlyr noted that Fen avoided hitting Six in the head, obviously remembering her advice. “Yield,” Six growled.

“Is it all over?!” Varric shouted as the crew leaned in, eager to see.

Fen'Harel looked well and truly caught. He was pressed against the deck by Six's massive weight and his legs, still struggling valiantly, were doing nothing to dislodge his attacker. Fen flailed with his whole body like a ferret caught in a trap. He bared his teeth, sweat and blood splashing from his hair as he shook his head in his effort.

“I think you're down and out this time, my friend,” Captain Kale had stepped forward, kneeling to see how effective the pin was. Preparing to call the match over.

Then Fen'Harel gave a sharp cry and jerked free of one of Six's arms. Before the qunari could react Fen managed to get a bare foot up against Six's face. He gave a firm kick, sending himself launching backwards more than pushing Six from him. Fen scrambled to his feet even as Six did the same. The crowd whooped. Captain Kale stepped back, shrugging and grinning.

“Oh! I did not see that coming! The little guy can't be counted out yet! This may be your last chance to place your bets! I've never seen a closer match!” Varric crowed, rushing to and fro trying to get a better view himself.

Fen'Harel made a sound that was half grunt, half roar and Astlyr felt Cole tense slightly beside her. She would have looked to the boy if her eyes were not glued to the combat. Fen'Harel surged forward, low to the ground. Six, caught off guard, tried to deflect, but Fen grabbed Six's arm with both hands, pulling himself closer, and forcing the qunari to take a step, breaking his stance. Fen tugged Six's arm across himself, angling the man the way he wanted. Then the elf released the arm, dropping down he wrapped one leg around Six's injured one, grasping the back of both Six's knees. He drove himself forward with all his force. This should not have done much, considering Six's size, but Fen had gotten him out of alignment, his injured knee gave, and the big man tumbled backwards, hitting the deck with such a solid thump that Astlyr wondered if he might have broken a few boards. Six's single horn did send a hefty splinter of wood flying when it hit.

Fen jumped back, stepping nimbly away from the fallen qunari and favoring his arm, which hung limp at his side. Six lay for a long moment, seemingly dazed. He blinked up at the sails, mouth slightly open. Then he let out a laugh which no one had been expecting. It was clear by the looks going around that many of the crew had never heard Six laugh before. Astlyr shot Cole a sideways glance, but the boy was once again relaxed. Was it just her, or did a the tiny hint of a smile flit across Cole's mouth?

Six managed to sit up, still laughing loudly and awkwardly. The laughter of one who did not have much practice. Fen'Harel still kept back, watchful. “Alright little mage. Alright,” Six said, shaking his head and grinning. “You've proven yourself.”

“The winner!” Captain Kale announced, stepping in and raising Fen's injured arm, which caused the mage to gasp in pain. Still, he could not hide a satisfied smile. Could he manage to look more smug? Astlyr wondered as she and her friends went to congratulate the god.

Myfanwy reached him first. She looked a bit annoyed, hands on her hips, ignoring Varric who was calling her to help him count and dole out winnings. “Are you satisfied?” she asked, in a tone that surprised Astlyr in its severity.

Fen grinned wolfishly, “Very. I haven't done that in...well...ages.”

“Please don't do it again. You're damaging my brother's body,” Myfanwy griped. She took Fen's injured arm, holding it out straight. Fen'Harel winced, but allowed it. “Here,” Myfanwy handed Fen's wrist to Astlyr, “Pull when I say.” The elf pressed a hand to the front of Fen'Harel's shoulder and then nodded to Astlyr. She pulled, if gently. Gentleness from the qunari was enough to pop the joint back into place. Fen gritted his teeth, but made no sound. “There,” Myfanwy said, still eying her god with some displeasure.

“I thank you,” Fen'Harel dipped his head, the clever glint still alive in his eyes. It was clear he had enjoyed himself greatly. Astlyr wondered how many other things she did not know about her friend. One would never guess that the scholarly elf loved dancing and court intrigue, or that he could take on a qunari in a wrestling match. She shook her head, marveling.

Fen'Harel placed a hand to his chest and white healing magic blossomed over him. It collected in little clumps like gathered snow where he was hurt. His knuckles, his brow and shoulder. “Do you want me to see to your knee?” Fen asked as Six moved to limp past.

“No,” the qunari said, his face having returned to a state of glum displeasure as though he had never laughed a day in his life. “No magic healing for me. I'll see the ship's surgeon.”

“Come on, you big lug,” Finna strode up, putting a friendly hand on the qunari's meaty arm, “I'll patch you up myself.”

Everything settled back into the routine of the evening aboard a ship. Meals were had, duty shifts were changed. Cullen left Astlyr for his quarters, though not before giving her a long and sustaining kiss. “I'm sorry that we have not had much time for...you know,” he cleared his throat, already blushing faintly.

“Don't worry about that,” she gave him a playful grin, “when we get back to Skyhold I'll 'you know' your brains out.”

Cullen made a startled choking sound, but it turned into a laugh as he kissed her again, skillfully, in a way that made her think she might have trouble falling asleep that night and left her fervently wishing she did not find going below decks so abhorrent. She knew he would never agree to sex on the deck. There was no way to have privacy from the prying eyes of the crew, and she knew how her man valued privacy. Her man. She rolled the idea around in her mind as she watched him head below. He was hers. She relished the thought with a little thrill. Only he could make her feel like a giddy teen, she realized and smiled at her own silliness.

Fen'Harel strode up to her then. She found herself glad it wasn't Cole who joined her. Fen may have been able to guess at her current, less than publicly correct thoughts, but Cole could read them like a book and spout them aloud to the crew. She hoped the boy was not below decks doing just that.

“It is a pleasant evening, is it not, my friend?” Fen said, leaning against the rail not far from her. He looked more bright, more alive, than he had in a while. He seemed somehow lit from within.

Astlyr moved to join him, watching his face in profile. Daveth's nose was so decidedly eflish, she noted. Roman and pronounced. Solas's had been more subtle. “You seemed to enjoy your little bought with Six,” she said, resting her hands on the railing.

“I did,” he smirked. “Sometimes being in Skyhold I forget myself. Forget how to have joy and freedom. Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Astlyr said, raising an eyebrow. “You don't usually volunteer information.”

Fen'Harel chuckled. “I'll be honest, I promise,” he placed a hand to his heart, though his grin was as cocky as ever. He turned and looked back to the water. The waves were died deep purple with night. It looked as though The Griffin sailed on a sea of roiling ink. “I fully admit to being arrogant. To using others for my own ends. I justified it because I wasn't sending followers to needless battle and death, as my fellow gods were, but I have been, and am, very manipulative.”

“You? No,” Astlyr snarked.

He gave her a wan smile, wrinkling his nose slightly. “Mock if you must, but understand that I used you. Repeatedly.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I'm not happy about it, but I know.” She had a thought, “Are you using me now?”

“I'm not certain,” he said, running a hand through hair, still slightly stringy with sweat. “I do it so habitually,” he smirked at her and she tried not to smile. “Some nights I get caught up in the world. In what I must do and what is expected,” he mumbled then, watching the waves again. “And nights like this I remember what I have loved about life. I think, tonight, I am truly happy and myself for the first time in a very long while.”

“Just tonight?” Astlyr said, feeling a pang of concern.

“Fully tonight,” he shrugged. Then he grinned again, baring very white teeth, his eyes glinting in the starlight like an animal's. “If there was a moon I might howl at it.”

Astlyr couldn't help herself, she cuffed him playfully. He made a show of catching her arm and turning it away, then threw two mock-punches at her shoulder. They laughed together and Astlyr wasn't certain when she could remember laughing with him. Had she ever? She found that, as unusual as it was, she liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. Ugh. This chapter. I edited this chapter fairly significantly. Then I promptly deleted all my work. Not realizing this, I posted the chapter without realizing I was posting the older, crappier version. So, upon realizing, I took it down and had to re-edit...in the car....on a way to an event. All that for a chapter I don't even love very much. I feel that my new edits aren't as good as my original ones either. Ugh. Oh well. That's life.
> 
> Alright, so let me be honest. If this fic was a book book, I would eliminate this chapter. It used to be part of a much larger chapter and I broke it down. Then I almost did major surgery and eliminated the fight scene and added this back to the next chapter...but then I realized that I needed all the lead I can have on you guys, especially with my new job commitments eating up all my writing time *shakes fist*.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter was enjoyable anyway. At least Varric had a good time!
> 
> Here's a picture of Daveth pre Fen'Harel for your enjoyment: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Daveth-534153092
> 
> Feel free to comment if you like :)
> 
> Next chapter hopefully: 5/28/15  
> To keep up to date head to my author page on FB: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	26. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe last chapter I promised you peril. Well, prepare for peril! Prepare yourselves!

Part 26  
Ambush

“Inquisitor!” A familiar, accented voice called to her.

Carr's Way was a tiny port village just to the southeast of the Western Approach. The Griffin settled in to dock at one of the two berths available. The other stood empty and it was obvious, as Astlyr and her people disembarked, that Carr's Way was not used to visitors. The village abutted the desert and not many would have cause to come there. Clearly the people sustained themselves with the fishing trade. They had seen several fishing crafts as the The Griffin hove her route to shore.

“Professor Fredric!” Astlyr greeted as a man hurried up to her group, past a throng of watching villagers who all looked highly suspicious of the entire situation. “I'm glad you are were able to meet us.”

“As am I,” the dragon researcher beamed. Or at least, she assumed he was beaming. The man insisted on wearing his Orliasian mask, even in the hottest desert sunshine. “I arrived two days ago, as instructed, and procured the supplies you requested.”

“Wonderful,” Astlyr affirmed. She had known that to locate and travel with desert supplies would have been challenging in Fereldan and a waste of space aboard The Griffin, so she had requested that the professor be contacted. He was enthusiastic as ever and willing to help Astlyr to the ends of the earth after she had aided him in his dragon research.

“Ugh,” Varric made an annoyed sound as he stepped off of the dock, taking in the desert which was visible beyond the houses of Carr's Way. “I forgot how much I hate sand.”

“At least it isn't snow,” Cullen pointed out, shouldering his pack and scanning the terrain.

Myfanwy seemed the most nervous of the bunch. Astlyr guessed that the elf had never been in a desert. She was clearly struggling not to look alarmed as she took in the sand and temperature. The heat was already dry and intense, and that was without the deadly desert wind that could kick up at a moment's notice.

“You had best travel in the morning and evening,” Fredric advised as he led the way to a loaded wagon. He began doling out supplies as he talked, as fast and excited as if he were describing the mating habits of high dragons. “Here are your waterskins. You will, of course carry more on your mounts. Be certain to ration your water carefully.”

“I have been in the desert before,” Astlyr reminded him goodnaturely.

“Ah, but you had Inquisition reach camps to retreat to in those days. Back when war, and rifts opening across the world required them.” Fredric said, passing out rolled up tents.

“Most of the reach camps have been withdrawn,” Cullen nodded, shouldering each new pack he was given with good humor, though the load would be impressive when all was told.

“Indeed,” Fredric said, passing out bundles of clothing. “These are your desert clothes. I highly recommend you change before you begin your journey. Without the correct attire you'll soon bake out there.”

“I don't get hot. Or cold.” Cole pointed out when the new clothes were offered to him.

“Er...right. I remember you now. You're he spirit fellow, right? Why do I always forget that? You have the right idea with that hat,” he gestured to Cole's head-wear. “I should have included ones like it for everyone.”

“You like my hat?” Cole brightened.

“Perfect for keeping the sun off your face,” Fredric nodded sagely, passing bundles of clothes to Fen'Harel and Myfanwy. Then the professor turned from the wagon and whistled loudly. “Now for your mounts.”

Astlyr had been dreading this. She knew the sort of creature they would be required to ride in this terrain. Three young men came around a building leading prancing and squawking dracolisks. The lean, scaled creatures were already saddled and bridled. They stamped and pawed the sandy turf, snorting and honking loudly. Astlyr caught sight of very sharp teeth flashing as they disagreed with one another, or their handlers.

“What in the name of the gods are those?!” Myfanwy's eyes went very wide and she stepped back.

Varric put a hand to the small of her back, “our rides. Don't worry, Puppy, you can handle them.”

“These are carnivores,” Myfanwy said, still looking dismayed.

“Yes,” said Cole. Even the spirit boy, who usually loved animals, was hanging back. “And most of them want to bite us.”

“Oh, grand,” Cullen said, raising an eyebrow and standing well away from the pack as the lanky, scaly creatures were led forward.

Astlyr too was feeling a bit unwilling. She had ridden a dracolisk once or twice and it was quite a different experience from horseback, that was certain. They could not be beaten for desert travel, however. They moved at a quick pace and needed little food or water. Thick scales protected them from the blistering sun and fearsome personalities kept the other desert predators thinking twice before tangling with them. Astlyr noted with satisfaction that these dracs wore bridles which held their mouths shut. She knew the creatures to be nippy at their best, and willing to take a goodly chunk out of your flesh if they were feeling sassy.

“Here we are,” Fredric was beaming. “These beauties are from my own, personal stables. Wonderful creatures eh? Excellent pedigrees all around.”

“Er...thank you Fredric. We'll try to take good care of them.”

“They'll take care of you too,” the man sounded as proud as a father, striding forward and patting a dracolisk's muscular shoulder. It swung its head, dark intent in its eyes, but its bridle, and a good grip on the reins by the stable hand, prevented any bodily harm befalling the draconologist. “Each of these scrappers can hold their own in a fight,”

Astlyr grimaced inwardly, but kept a pleased smile plastered to her face. By the look Cullen was giving her she guessed her grin was starting to slip, or perhaps just making her look slightly insane.

Fredric didn't seem to notice as he passed out mounts. “Inquisitor, this beauty is yours. Largest we have. Her name is Thorn and she's got a real strong personality, so she needs a firm hand. I knew you would be one who could handle her.”

“Thanks,” Astlyr managed as reins were set into her hand. Thorn, a copper-red creature, blinked smokey yellow eyes and snorted some truly terrible smelling breath into Astlyr's face before lowering her head and attempting to head-butt with her horns. “I think we'll get along fine,” Astlyr managed to deflect the horns skillfully.

“I don't know,” Myfanwy said, looking more than a little afraid as the stable hand stepped up with her mount.

“That's alright, Puppy. Ride with me,” Varric offered, accepting his own mount with more grace than anyone else managed. The dwarf had been with Astlyr on many of her desert sojourns and had actually come to know these creatures as well as she had. “Old Ague here can carry us both, no trouble.” Varric's mount, Ague, was green and scarred. He was shorter than his fellows and looked like he came out on the bad end of most scraps. Still, his angular face turned this way and that as though looking for a fight.

“Here you are, ser,” one of the men handed Cullen the reins of a silver scaled male. “His name's Biter. Guess what he likes best.”

“I can't imagine,” snarked Cullen as his new mount tried to open its jaws wide enough for a good chomp.

“Cole will be riding with me,” Astlyr assured the men as they looked concernedly at the strange boy. Astlyr had not bothered to include him in the brief roster she had sent to Fredric requesting mounts. He would spend his time teleporting and riding behind her on Thorn.

“And for you, master elf?” Four mounts remained and Fredric looked concernedly at Fen'Harel, “We expected Lady Cassandra, and that Tevinter you travel with sometimes, Inquisitor,” Fredric admitted. “So you shall have your pick if you like,” he nodded towards Fen'Harel.

“Last minute change off personnel.” Astlyr said, as she attempted to placed her saddle bags over Thorn's scrawny rump. The beast kept turning.

“Well, seeing as the young miss will not be needing her drac, you can have hers if you like,” Fredric gestured between Fen and the dracolisk intended for Myfanwy.

“This one will do fine,” Fen'Harel selected the reins of the second largest beast, dwarfed only by Thorn. This one too bore silver scales, slightly reflective in the bright sunlight.

“Ripper?” one of the hands raised an eyebrow.

“She's sister to Biter, and we rather intended her for Lady Cassandra,” Fredric said, looking nervous.

“We shall get along splendidly,” Fen'Harel assured the concerned men as he gave Ripper's shoulder a firm pat. The creature made a thrumming sound and swung her head down on her long, swan-like neck to examine this new rider with obvious disdain.

Mounts selected and stores disembarked, Astlyr and her company bade farewell to the crew of The Griffin. The ship would sail up the coast, stopping at various port towns to trade. They would take goods from Carr's Way further up the coast than the little finishing vessels could travel. Not to mention that The Griffin's crew was well respected at most ports and promised to make good bargains. The ship was also laden with mail, for though crows could carry short messages, a good long letter would need to be delivered by hand.

“I suggest we find somewhere cool to wait out the day and you can embark at dusk,” Fredric said, standing beside them, arms folded. 

With goodbyes finished Astlyr and her people moved into the shade of an awning to watch The Griffin disembark. The Sunburst flag on the highest mast glistened in the sunlight like a challenge and Astlyr smiled to herself as she thought of the good crew. Already she was wondering what they would all get up to on the trip home to Skyhold when the search for the foci was over.

“We travel at dusk and dawn in the desert,” Varric was explaining to Myfanwy, who was already curiously considering her pack of desert clothes. “Daytime is too hot and the nights get very cold.”

“Why on earth would anyone live here?” the elvish woman asked, her brows knitting together. She took a moment to lift her hair from her neck where it was sticking with sweat.

“The sand remembers elves here,” Cole muttered. He was unbothered by the temperature and did not sweat. He had remained standing in the sun so as not to take up valuable shade. “This place was covered in their tracks before the desert churned over and over and pulled them down and away. But they weren't forgotten. Sand doesn't forget. Bones under the shifting earth burned ivory-white with time. They still sing the songs lost by the the living.”

Myfanwy gave Cole a confused and slightly alarmed look. Astlyr chuckled as Fen'Harel explained, “I believe he means that once your people dwelt here as well. The Elvhen ruled all this land before the humans came. On both sides of the Frostback Mountains.”

Fredric stalled their talk by ushering them into the relative cool of a small public house, which was filled with curious townsfolk. Astlyr hated being gawked at, but she tried to be good natured about it. Cullen was sweet enough to look insulted on her behalf whenever mutterings about her size and her horns rippled through the room. Astlyr took the time to lay out maps and go over their plans with Fen'Harel one more time, shooting occasional glances towards the windows, keeping an eye on the sun, eager to begin their journey.

~~~~~

At dusk their small party set forth. Not before Astlyr had quizzed some of the less intimidated townsfolk about the goings on in the area. She heard the usual reports of wild dogs, Quillbacks and the occasional Varghest sighting. There were mutterings of complaint that the last of the Venatori had not vacated the desert either. Astlyr supposed they had no where to go. Almost certainly unwelcome in their old lands this worshipers of Corypheus were left without a god and without a home. “We'll have to keep our eyes out for them,” she reminded her crew as they began their ride. “Our actions in the war are not likely to endear us towards them.”

“That's an understatement, Pointy,” Varric chuckled. “After all, you killed god.”

“And very dramatically from what I hear,” Cullen added, grinning, even as he fought to keep his dracolisk from charging off into the sands with him clinging to its back.

Astlyr was pleased that Thorn was behaving herself for the moment. She seemed, as the largest and strongest of the dracs, to be the leader of the group, though Varric's little mount, Ague, appeared to believe it ought to be him calling the shots. He made various attempts to nip, kick or headbutt anyone who came within range. Myfanwy clung doggedly to Varric, her arms threaded under his, and hands clasped at his chest. Though Astlyr suspected the dwarf had no romantic feelings for the elf, she knew he certainly didn't mind having a pretty woman wrapped around him either. He looked a bit smug.

As night crept over the windblown sands Astyr looked around for a place to make camp. She found a good spot under a rocky outcropping and they set up their low tents. Each tent was a squat, one person affair. They were meant to be able to withstand being completely covered in sand, should a storm kick up. There was no sitting up in the tents, you merely crawled inside and fell asleep. Their desert clothes were also quite different from what the friends were accustomed to. Loose clothing that covered almost every part of their bodies. Though they traveled in the between hours, when the sun was low in the sky, it was still a danger. Astlyr had a bit of a trial with the head covering, trying to figure out how to strategically drape it around her horns.

They wore special leg protection made of fennic fur to prevent sand from wearing down their leather boots as they rode or walked. Astlyr strapped her armor on over her new garb and found that she cooked in her platemail, even as tolerant of heat as she naturally was. Cullen couldn't stand to wear it at all even as they rode. Instead he settled for chain when they weren't sleeping and Astlyr found herself more than once wishing she had invested in some good scale.

Camp the first night was a pleasant affair before it became too cold and everyone had to retreat to their tents and snuggle in under fennic fur. Astlyr found herself missing Dorian as they sat around the fire, chatting. Cullen was sharp witted enough, but often failed to jump in with the banter, opting to merely listen quietly, or ruining a joke with some steadfast logic. He annoyed Varric a bit. “You're worse than The Seeker, Curly,” the dwarf griped.

“Forgive me,” Cullen said, though he did not sound remotely sorry.

It was pleasant to have Cullen along for other reasons, Astlyr noted to herself. She had never been so doted upon. While he was careful never to overstep, he was always there, passing her her waterskin, or sliding her foot into the stirrup. Small gestures that gave her a constant, steadying reminder that he was hers. Not to mention kisses whenever she wanted them.

~~~~

A few days into the desert put the group in less pleasant moods. Everyone was now officially in need of bathing, and so coated in sand that Astlyr was constantly spitting it out and rubbing it from her eyes. She was even starting to miss snow. She was certainly missing Smoke and the other horses. The night before a pack of wild dogs and invaded the camp, drawn by the smell of their dinner. As Astlyr and her people woke to drive off the beasts the dracolisks had kicked up a fuss, tossing heads and screeching. They came dangerously close to pulling up their tethers and attacking the dogs themselves.

“Remind me how many more days until we reach that foci,” Varric pleaded, wiping his hand across his brow then readjusting his headdress. It was dusk on the fourth day, just as the sun was crawling unwillingly to bed behind the soft dunes.

“By my calculations it should only be another day, perhaps two,” Fen'Harel reassured him. The elf had pulled his hair back into a sloppy tail. He had wanted to shave it completely off, but Myfanwy had looked at him aghast and he had merely chuckled, respecting her wishes with a wry smile. “The foci is secreted in a cave, which I hope we will be able to find easily. It is magically concealed, but I know the place.”

“At least you knew the place. Landmarks change in a few Ages.” Varric grumbled, tugging the reins to stop Ague from taking a swipe at Biter with his horns. It was becoming second nature for the adventurers to stop their mounts from trying to harm one another or their riders.

Cullen spoke up, “I was hoping to clarify something. When we find the foci, it is only an item of power, as the orb was, correct? The god it is attached to will be hidden away somewhere else? We will need to find him?”

“No,” Fen'Harel shook his head. “Dirthamen was one who asked for my aid. He was a friend to me at one time. Together we hid him in a way that many of the gods have favored. As you know,” he nodded towards Astlyr, “we gods may place part of ourselves into objects. Pieces of our soul to be used later if the need should arise. When Mythal was killed she was able to become herself again using one of the pieces she had tucked away. It is the method I used with the dead bird. Dirthamen did the same.”

“So where are the pieces?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“It matters little where the others are, because one of them us bound to his foci.” Fen'Harel explained.

“They can do that?” Varric asked.

“Of course,” Fen'Harel replied.

“What happens to the other pieces once this one is awakened?” Astlyr questioned, struggling to contain Thorn as the creature tried to charge a nearby desert hare. “I'll feed you later, you great lump,” she muttered to her unwilling mount as Thorn snorted and shook her head in frustration.

“The other pieces of the soul will rejoin once one has been returned to life,” Fen said, squinting into the shimmering sands as though he might see something besides barren land peppered with tall rock formations and pocked with gullies.

“And we need the foci to bring him back to life from this piece of his soul?” Myfanwy questioned.

“Yes. It cannot be achieved without the foci. However, we will also need a host if we wish to awaken Dirthamen. Unlike Ghilan'nain he was not hidden in his own form. That which was Dithamen is gone forever, just as my original body will never been seen again outside the Fade.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment, pondering this news. “When were you planning to tell me we needed a host?” Astlyr questioned Fen.

“As soon as it became prudent to do so. I did not think it an urgent matter.”

“Do you suppose there will be elves like Daveth who will willingly give themselves up for their god?” Cullen wondered aloud. Everyone was shooting glances towards Myfanwy, though she said nothing and kept her head down, her nose almost touching Varric's shoulders.

“Perhaps,” Fen'Harel nodded in answer to Cullen's query.

Everyone fell silent again, riding on.

When night fell in around them, wrapping them in an almost unnatural cold. Those on watch huddled close to the fire. Cole, who was always one of the two watching, roamed farther from the camp, unbothered as ever by the chill. Astlyr wrapped a cloak around herself, listening to the gentle desert sounds, and her friend's quiet breathed from their tents. Nearby the tethered dracs were still for the moment, only occasionally trying to bite one another. Cold blooded creatures, they were gentler at night, though by no means friendly. Astlyr had found that they slept very seldom, and what little they needed they achieved while standing up, as horses did. They too took it in shifts to sleep. Astlyr did have to marvel at their efficiency. It had taken her team longer to sort out guard rotations than it had the animals.

She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye, but she knew it was Cole. These days she found she usually had a pretty good idea of where he was, even in the darkness. Perhaps her new bond with him allowed her to sense his location. Then again, she was observant and Cole had a fairly recognizable way of moving.

Another shadow draped itself across the camp, flickering in the firelight. It was Myfanwy, awaking and coming to relieve Astlyr for her turn at watch. Astlyr stood, stretching quietly, stamping life back into her feet. She nodded to the elf, preparing to retreat to her tent and crawl inside. “Astlyr,” Myfanwy spoke in a hushed voice, looking tense.

“What is it?” Astlyr questioned, tugging her cloak tight around her and searching the Elf's bare face, visible in the flickering firelight.

Myfanwy's brown eyes avoided Astlyr's for a long moment, then she moved away from where the others slumbered, beckoning with a gesture that was a polite invitation rather than a command. The qunari followed willingly until they stood at the edge of the firelight. “I wanted to speak to you, Commander,” the elf said, tightly. “Cole...Cole told me that you listen to your people, and it was safe to tell you.”

“Of course,” Astlyr said. She resisted the urge to bend down to face the elf better. She had learned the hard way that many people did not appreciate the gesture, and most found it flatly insulting. “What is it?”

“I...I don't want to be Dirthamen's host,” Myfanwy's shoulders were tense and her eyes glistened. She blinked rapidly. “I know I should want to. It should be an honor. Daveth understood that. To serve our gods in their time of need, but...” She seemed to choke on her words for a moment. Astlyr wondered if she should interject. She could sense Cole hovering nearby, concerned, but patient. “I feel like I am disrespecting my brother, what he wanted for us, but it's...it's just not what I want. I'm sorry.”

Astlyr realized Myfanwy was crying. Silently with just a subtle shaking of her slender shoulders. “Oh Myfanwy,” Astlyr said, her voice as gentle as she could make it. “I would never ask you to give yourself up against your will, and I know Fen wouldn't either. We only looked to you in case you wanted it. You're not your brother, Myfanwy. You don't have to lead that life.”

Myfanwy sniffled, swiping her hand fiercely across her eyes, clearly resolved to stop crying. When she looked up her expression was difficult to read. Guarded as ever. “I feel so selfish.”

“You're not,” Astlyr assured her. “You gave your life to something else. You dedicated yourself to aiding your brother and then watching over Fen'Harel. You've been a remarkably loyal friend to all of us, with so little reason.”

Myfanwy shook her head. “Not with little reason. I'm glad I met all of you. Found a new clan with the Inquisition. It's nice not being a pariah. Don't tell anyone, because I think it means I don't get to call myself Dalish any more, but I much prefer a warm bed and food whenever I want it to having to tie myself into a tree to sleep so the wolves don't find me.” a thin smile tugged the corner of her lips.

Astlyr laughed a little too loud and she quickly quieted herself, worried she had woken the whole camp. “Well, I'm glad you like us, and our warm beds.”

“I do,” Myfanwy said, her stoic expression for once a poor mask over her obvious feeling of pleasure.

The two walked slowly back into the camp proper. Myfanwy stationed herself beside the fire, warming her slim hands. Astlyr again marveled that the elf's feet were bare. It didn't seem to matter how cold it got, these elves were always barefoot. If she was honest she was a little jealous. Her own feet were tired of being crammed into boots all the time. Especially here in the desert.

Astyr watched to be certain that Myfanwy was not looking in her direction as she shed her cloak and warm garb for sleep. Instead of heading for her own tent, she resolved to try to cram herself into Cullen's. It was more cramped than she expected, but he was pleased to see her, even as they had to do some serious body rearranging to make certain she didn't crush the poor man. He chuckled at her worries, “Astlyr, you're bigger than me, but not so much bigger that you squish me like an ant.”

All the same, it took them quite some time to arrange themselves and get down to business. They had just figured out how they wanted to manage things when Myfany's alarmed shouts startled them.

Astlyr's head shot up and her horns punctured through the tent roof. She was caught and Cullen, thinking quickly indeed for a man in a state of semi-undress, managed to free her, but then they were a jumble of failing limbs and swearing all rolled up in leather as they attempted to struggle free. Outside more shouting had begun. The rest of the camp was awake, she knew, and already fighting. She felt the air prickle with magic, though she couldn't tell if it was from her team or the enemy. By the sounds she heard she knew this was no wild dog attack.

Finally free, she and Cullen made a mad scramble for their weapons. It was dark. Someone had kicked sand over the fire. The sliver of a moon that showed itself was hardly enough light for most of the fighters in her party.

Shield on her arm and sword in hand, though painfully aware that she had no armor, Astlyr tried to assess the battle. Everything was chaos. She had to rally her team, get them into formation. She could tell that there were too many enemies for them to have a chance, spread out as they were. She caught sight of white and gold garb in the thin light. Venatori. More than she had seen gathered before. Usually they traveled in small parties. This one was impressive. “To me!”Astlyr shouted, hoping to rally her men. She knew she risked drawing Venatori attention with her call, but she had little choice.

Cullen, who was near her already, moved to lock shield with hers. She knew he was not as experienced as Cas, but he would do in a pinch. The only other person who came was Cole, appearing at her other side, already looking battle ruffled. There was a thin cut on his upper arm and his hat was off, missing somewhere in the melee. “Where's everyone else?” she asked the boy as magic zinged past her head. She knew her tiny shield line was caught in the middle of an ambush. They had seconds before the enemy closed ranks around them. Her skin prickled, alive with the fire of battle.

“Varric is trapped over there,” Cole pointed with a dagger to a jumble of Venatori, but Astlyr could not even see her dwarvish friend within. “I don't know where Fen'Harel and Myfanwy are.”

“Shit. Fuck!” Astlyr swore, bringing her shield around instinctively she deflected an arrow that was meant for Cole. “How many?!”

“At least twenty,” the boy reported.

Then the enemy hit, and from all sides. Astlyr was wounded in three places before she had time to think. Swords, arrows, magic, everything chaos. She and Cullen moved back to back, doing their best to turtle the worst of the hostility coming at them. A Venatori rogue tried to dart in and slide a dagger into Astlyr's side, but Cole appeared, ramming his own dagger between the man's ribs, angled upwards for a perfect stab to the heart. Cole vanished again, teleporting everywhere, trying to carve Astlyr and Cullen a path out of the mosh. He moved so quickly Astlyr had no time to check him for wounds. She wished she knew where Fen'Harel and Myfanwy were.

As if in answer the sand beneath her roiled, churning as though it had a life of its own. Several Venatori tripped and went sprawling. Cullen drove his sword into an unarmored thigh, then slashed a mage who was standing too near, overconfident. The man might not have had all of his templar powers without the lyrium, but he still had his training and it showed through when he faced their mages without fear.

Astlyr and Cullen drove their way through the gap Fen had created with his sand magic. She could see the mage now. His white and green spells sliding over the earth, trying his best to disrupt the enemy. The enemy archers targeted him, and he reacted quickly, raising a barrier. The deadly shafts deflected from his magical shield, but he had to turn his focus to defending himself.

Astlyr thought she caught sight of Myfanwy with Fen, firing back at the enemy, but she wasn't certain as she was forced to return her attention to the enemies before her. “Shit,” she snarled as a spell hit her in her calf, buckling her down to her knees. Cullen tried to grab her and pull her up, but at that moment someone attacked his other side and he had to turn from her. Another spell and an arrow sailed her way. She blocked the arrow with her shield, but the spell struck her square in the face.

Somewhere she heard Cole yelp. Her world swam for a moment. She wasn't certain what type of spell it had been, but it left her muddled. She fought to clear her head, and to allow her own qunari rage to siphon through the fog. If she could get a good blood rage going she could do some serious damage. She could already feel the heat in her limbs, the driving of her heart growing stronger. Something slashed her arm and she little noticed. Good. Pain wasn't effecting her as much now. Something struck her shield. A blade. She turned to the wielder, still on her knees, and drove her own sword into him, straight through his chainmail without slowing. She used the leverage of her sword in his torso to push herself to a standing position. She'd lost Cullen. He'd been driven from her side. There were more than twenty Venatori, she realized.

And then the dracs got loose. Thorn and her compatriots charged through the camp, attacking friend and foe alike. The sheer numbers of the Venatori did allow for a better chance of them being bitten or trampled, but Astlyr didn't like that she couldn't find her own people. “Cole,” she choked, dancing as nimbly as she could to avoid more magic flying her way. The boy didn't appear at her side and her heart tightened like someone had it in a vice. Her vision blurred again, but this time it was with blood rage. She charged the nearest clump of Venatori and scattered them, rending flesh and bone, blunting her sword on their armor. They screamed, they bled and they died as she drove into them. She was aware that they were wounding her, but she felt little of it. Only the deepest cuts registered in her attention. One in her side, another on her calf. The rest were superficial. Beneath her notice. “TO ME!” she tried again, turning from the scene of slaughter to begin another. There were still so damn many Venatori. They swarmed the camp like ants.

Something slammed against her. It took her a moment to realize that a dracolisk had come from behind and bowled into her with its shoulder. Sharp scales raked skin and her sword was pulled from her hand as she stumbled, swearing. She reached for the sword of one of the Venatori she had killed, but not fast enough. Another spell struck her, again in the face. Were they aiming for her head? She tried to bring her shield up but found that an arrow had become lodged in her shoulder, near her neck. How long had that been there? It wouldn't let her raise her arm properly. Her blood rage was fading. Damn that spell, whatever it was. The Venatori were closing on her now and she was struck again in the head by magic. More muddled she managed to grapple the sword free from the corpse's hand and swung it clumsily. She was gratified with a yelp of pain from her attackers, but something struck her on the head again, and it wasn't a spell this time. Some idiot was hitting her with a club.

She lashed out with her shield, bowling two attackers back, wishing she had a plan. Wishing she knew where her people were. Wishing they had trained better for a possible attack on the camp. They'd been slopp and it was her fault. As the leader she should have been thinking about defense, not frolicking with her new lover. She snarled, taking out another attacker with a slice to the belly. A spell hit her in the face and she fell to a knee, still snarling. The club came in again, making an ugly sound as it smashed her just above her eye. Joke was on them, the bone was thickest there. Even on her knees she fought, and it was clearly taking all of them to bring her down. Someone threw a grappling chain over her sword arm. She felt little spikes dig into her flesh. Another spell, another crashing blow from the club. Her world was fading. Her last thought, as she slid unwillingly into blackness under an onslaught of blows, was that she missed Cassandra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Play the danger music, Astlyr and her peeps are in trouble again! Damn Venatori! *Shakes fist* This is why you always bring Cassandra...and sorry Astlyr and Cullen, no sexy tent times for you! Poor Myfanwy doesn't want to be a god-host AND she likes warm beds?! Hand in your Dalish card, woman!
> 
> Random question: what was your most perilous moment in the game? A time when you almost died and pulled out by the skin of your teeth? Do share!
> 
> Or comment about this story, up to you ;)
> 
> Next: 6/4/15 (Probably)  
> keep up to date and see book reviews here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	27. The God Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter there was peril. This chapter: More peril! WARNING: this chapter contains graphic violence.

Part 27  
The God Killer

Whoever hit Astlyr in the head the final time knocked her clear out of consciousness and into the Fade. The Fade in the desert was very different than what she had previously experienced. Along with everything having that same, ugly, greenish tint, the sand around her, for as far as she could see, would not stop moving. Blown by intangible winds it rolled in and out like an unpredictable tide. One moment she stood above it on a rock, but in seconds she was buried up to her hips. Before she could panic or try to free herself the sand slid away again, leaving her in relative shallows.

Once she had determined that the sand was not going to drown her, she checked around for other signs of life. She remembered that her body in the other world was injured, but here she felt no pain. One of the happy side effects of the Fade. What happened in one place did not translate in the other unless demons were involved. Her eyes caught motion. Distantly something alarmingly large was moving across the horizon. It looked like a gigantic armadillo and she hoped it wouldn't look her way.

She raised her hand to check the anchor mark. Seemingly dormant. Again she took in her constantly shifting surroundings. Why was she here, she wondered as she watched a massive statue appear out of the sands. Dead, stone eyes stared at her for a long moment before it was lost again. “Cole?” she tried, already knowing that there would be no answer from the boy. He wasn't there, a part of her could sense it.

More movement got her attention. Something was running towards her this time. A dark shape rushing over the top of the sands. Rising and falling with each rolling wave. One moment visible, the next hidden by a dune. She was aware as ever that she had no weapons in the Fade. No means of defense save her mark. She raised her hand, wondering if special motions could wake it, like a mage casting a spell.

“Astlyr! It is I,” a familiar voice called.

Astlyr lowered her hand, watching as the dark shape drew nearer and resolved itself into one she knew. A black wolf with blue eyes shining like pinpoints of day from its dark face. “Fen'Harel,” she affirmed as the wolf finally reached her. It transformed quickly into the elf she had already seen twice in the Fade. Tall, red haired, and proud of bearing. For a moment he merely blinked at her as though slightly dazed. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. Sand buried Astlyr up to her shins. Fen'Harel rode it upward and for a moment he was looking down at her.

“I am glad I found you,” Fen said. “I was hoping I would able to draw you into the Fade with me. I saw them take you down.”

“What's happening?” Astlyr snapped urgently, remembering the fight. It had taken her Fade-muddled mind a frustrating amount of time to recall that her people were likely in grave danger.

“The Venatori have captured you,” Fen said, riding another wave of sand, this one larger than the last. Astlyr had to hold her arms up so they would not be buried.

“Captured? Since when do they do that? I killed their god, why would they keep me alive?”

“I am uncertain,” Fen'Harel admitted. “Myfanwy and I managed to flee.”

“To flee?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“We were fighting near the edge of the camp. Daveth may have skill with earth magic, but he has never practiced with sand so I was of little use. Merely able to inconvenience our attackers. Especially overwhelmed as we were. When I saw that we were outmatched I took Myfanwy and ran.”

Astlyr couldn't begrudge him his actions. If she had been able to, she would have called a retreat. Unfortunately they had been too well surrounded by the time she had gotten her head on her shoulders and her shield into battle. “How many Venatori are there?” She asked, her mind suddenly buzzing again. She was still alive, she could get them out of this.

“You whittled down their numbers considerably. From what I have seen of their camp perhaps twenty or thirty remain. I do not dare to draw near until we have formulated a plan.”

“My men?” Astlyr asked, tensely.

“From my vantage I can see a large tent where I assume you are being kept. I have seen no sign of the bodies of our friends, so I can only speculate that they are alive and with you.”

“Cole?”

“My guess would be that they have the boy trapped so he cannot teleport. As I entered the Fade I called out to him with my magics, but he did not answer. I do not know what they might have done to him.”

Astlyr gritted her teeth, trying to push rising panic from her mind. She would know if he'd been killed, wouldn't she? As his Companion? “Are you hurt? Is Myfanwy?” she asked, forcing her mind to be logical, military.

“No. I have seen to our wounds with my magic,” Fen'Harel reassured her. “Though where we are located now we have no water and little shade.”

“So you can't wait around indefinitely,” Astlyr muttered, more to herself than her companion as the sand swept up to pool around her knees again.

“Indeed not,” Fen said, watching her with his intelligent eyes.

“So we need a plan,” Astlyr said, rubbing her chin. Then she felt something odd. Her shin began to throb and there was a tugging at her mind, pulling her away from the conversation at hand. “What-?”

“No! Astlyr!” Fen'Harel reached towards her, as if that would do any good. For a moment she hovered between worlds, which was an unpleasant sensation to say the least, then found herself fully in the waking world.

Cullen was kicking her. Repeatedly and hard on the shin. “Astlyr,” he said, his voice full of a desperation she hadn't heard in a long time. “Open your eyes, please! Please wake up!”

“Ouch,” she mumbled.

Cullen stopped kicking. “Thank the Maker,” the man breathed in obvious relief.

It took Astlyr a moment to come to a full understanding of her situation. Before anything else she noticed the pain. Just about everything hurt. From what she could see the Venatori had done the bare minimum to keep her from bleeding to death. Sloppy bandages were slapped on to her shoulder, legs, and she suspected, her head, which was pounding something fierce. It was difficult to focus her eyes. She could make out shapes more than anything. She tried to move her head to look around as best she could and something tugged at her throat, causing her to make a pathetic gargling sound.

“Easy,” Cullen warned. Though he had stopped kicking her, he still kept a foot resting against her leg, as though to reassure her he was still there. “They've got you very efficiently trussed up.”

Astlyr assessed, as best she could, the way they had bound her. She was laying on her side, one cheek pressed against sand. A sturdy seeming rope was looped around her neck, then ran down behind her. It knotted her wrists together at the small of her back and also held her legs bent so her ankles met her bound hands. If she moved too much, or tried to bring her head forward, she began to choke herself. She could barely twitch without tightening the noose. She swallowed, trying to think, but still struggling against the mire in her mind. All she could think to do was whisper: “report.” And that she only did instinctively. She wasn't certain she could even process what Cullen might tell her.

“The Venatori have us,” the commander said first. Were she in less pain she might have been sassy with him about this obvious statement, but she sensed he was being thorough. “You, myself and Varric have been tied up and placed in a large tent. From what I can tell there are at least two guards outside. I have seen and heard other movement beyond the tent flap, but not enough to get an idea of what they plan to do with us. I have heard raised voices. Arguing perhaps, which inclines me to think they don't know what to do with us.”

Astlyr bit back the string of profanity perched at the tip of her tongue. Perhaps now was not the best time to blaspheme. She would need all the help she could get, and even human gods were not out of the question in this situation. She tasted blood in her mouth and felt very strongly as though she might like to be sick, but stifled it. “Are you wounded? Varric?”

“The dwarf is still unconscious,” Cullen said as Astlyr tried to turn to see her friends. This only resulted in the rope digging cruelly into her throat. “He's got a nasty head wound and I don't like his color, but there's little I can do.”

“You?”

“I'm fine.”

“If you were fine we wouldn't be trapped. You'd be fighting our way out like a good hero.” Perhaps her sass was coming back, just a little.

“Probably a cracked rib or two. I think one of my fingers is broken and, like you, they hit me on the head, though unlike you, they only had to hit me once.” The templar admitted, though he kept his voice level, as though this were all part of the report. “You scared me, Astlyr. You've got so many wounds.”

“The disadvantage of a good qunari bloodrage,” Astlyr muttered darkly, “a bad qunari aftermath. Cole?” she was afraid to ask and terrified of the answer.

“I haven't seen him,” Cullen said.

Astlyr swallowed hard. She had to be able to sense if he was dead. She just had to. “Please be alive,” she whispered.

“So, what do we do?” Cullen asked.

“Damn,” Astlyr suddenly remembered where she had just been. In the Fade formulating a plan with Fen until Cullen had started kicking her. She thought about admonishing him, but changed her mind. Her head hurt too much anyway. It would not be difficult to slip back into unconsciousness and hopefully back to the Fade for more planning.

Then the tent flap opened and light poured in. Astlyr's head exploded with pain and she tried not to cry out as he closed her eyes fiercely. She lay very still, fighting down the waves of dizziness that pulsed through her. She chomped down on her lip and tasted more blood. Cullen's foot did not move from its reassuring place against her shin, but she could tell he had changed position. Probably feigning unconsciousness.

She forced herself to go as limp as she could. She thought it might have been the hardest thing she had ever done. The rope bit mercilessly into her neck and wrists. She heard footsteps very near her head and someone kicked sand in her face. She was uncertain if it was intentional. Someone grabbed one of her horns, pulling her head up slightly. She couldn't help it, she let out a grunt. She hoped it would go unnoticed. The man holding her spoke in a rough tone. “We should slit her throat now. It'd be easy and we'd be rid of her for good and all.” The man spat and Astlyr felt warm moisture on her cheek.

“And what would that gain us?” a second voice questioned. This one was gentler, though not by much. “Corypheus is dead. She killed him. She bears the mark where he could not.” Someone was grasping at her hand now, trying to reveal her palm, but she was too awkwardly tied. The man gave up.

“She stole it from him,” the first man snarled.

“Exactly,” said the second, sounding triumphant. “She stole it. What sort of god could Corypheus be if a mere qunari could take something of his eh?”

“Oh gods, I've heard this enough from you already,” groaned the first man, spitting again, though this time not on Astlyr. He did an insulting, high pitched imitation of his companion's voice. “If she can kill a god, maybe she is a god. Has anyone thought about that?”

“Well, have you?” the second man asked, taking his cohort's mockery in stride. “I mean, it makes sense. She just appeared, out of no where. Who was she? Where did she come from? How did she find her way to Coryphues at exactly the right moment to take the anchor? And she destroyed the orb as well. She's powerful, obviously. More powerful than that darkspawn pretender.”

The spitter snarled and Astlyr heard a blow being struck, “Do NOT speak of Lord Corypheus in that manner!”

Scuffling, and more sand was kicked at Astlyr's face. She fervently hoped she would not be stepped on. Both men ended their brief fisticuffs, panting and growling. “It's not for us to decide anyway. The Magister will do that, once he is finished with the spirit creature.”

Astlyr's blood turned to ice in her veins. Spirit creature? Surely they couldn't mean Cole! It took as yet unplumbed depths of fortitude to keep her lying still. She fought to keep her breath even. Her head pounded with the drumming of her heart. The two men left the tent, once again washing her with cruel light before the tent flap fell back into place. Astlyr opened one eye, careful. Then she opened the other, staring at the sliver of white light where the flap had not closed perfectly. “Fuck,” she managed between gritted teeth. “I need to get back to the Fade. I need to come up with a plan and I can't think here.”

“The Fade?” Cullen's voice was quiet, cautious.

She didn't have the energy to explain. “Yes,” she said, simply. Then she felt something else. Something beneath the pain. A tugging sensation in her chest and a prickling in her hand. It was faint, but insistent. Her left palm tingled as though statically charged. Then a sound made her snarl like a wild animal. From outside the tent she heard the sound of Cole, crying out. Just one cry, but her body had a visceral reaction. Her hand jumped with a sharp pain and she tugged the ropes, jerking her own head back. She curled her lip, wondering if she could rage again and break her bonds, or if she would only break her own neck in the process.

“Whoa, easy!” Cullen was saying, obviously sensing her intent. “Astlyr,” his tone was measured, calming, “go back to the Fade. Do whatever you need to do there to get us out of this. You can't help Cole in this state. Astlyr. Please.”

His voice cut through her and she pulled back, letting the rage slip away. She tried not to think about Cole's cry. At least it meant he was still alive. The faster she retreated to the Fade, the sooner she could return at teach these Venatori bastards a lesson. She closed her eyes, willing her mind to calm. For once it as easy to slip away. Her aching body almost seemed to thank her as her consciousness drifted free from it again. The last thing she was aware of was Cullen's foot still touching her leg.

~~~~~

Back to the shifting sands. Back to the black and green, churning world of the Fade. Back to Fen'Harel. She was intensely grateful that he had waited for her, though his pale face shone with concern. “Are you well? What happened?” the god asked urgently, rushing over to her.

Astlyr gave her friend a brief overview of what she had experienced in the waking world. When she mentioned Cole Fen'Harel's face flickered with an anger that surprised her. It looked completely unnatural and wholly natural in the same moment. “Any thoughts on how to get ourselves out of this situation?” she asked.

“I did have one, while I was awaiting your return,” the elf admitted, riding another sand wave easily. He little noticed as he rose and fell, his arms folded, his expression returned to one of contemplation. “How many demons do you suppose this group of Venatori could handle?”

Astlyr caught his meaning at once. “If I can get free I can open a rift in the middle of their camp!”

“It wouldn't be enough,” Fen said, scanning the terrain. “There are many demons in the vicinity, and they will be drawn to the tear, but their attack must be immediate. If the Venatori are given any time to react, they will likely kill you on the spot.”

Astlyr nodded, understanding but frustrated. She knew that even her odd, new, would-be worshipers would likely turn on her if they caught her actively trying to murder them with demons. A small smile played on her lips as she allowed herself to picture a large rage demon pulling the Venatori into pieces like cotton wool. Fen had to clear his throat to get her to focus. “What must be done is this,” the god began, blue eyes flashing dangerously. “I must do my best to draw demons here, to where you will open a tear. In this way we will ensure that the attack will begin as soon as you rip open the Fade.”

“I can help you,” Astlyr said, trying to pull her legs free of the latest wave of green-hued sand.

“No,” Fen'Harel frowned. “In this instance we must keep you far from the influence of demons. While none had never bested you before, this would be a highly inopportune time for one to manage such a feat.”

“Couldn't one just as easily 'best' you?” she put her hands on her hips, painfully aware that no sword hung there. She had no magic, as Fen did, to defend herself in the Fade. Only her wits, and those made sorry substitutions for a good sword and shield.

Fen was giving her a confident smile now, “May I remind you, I am a god.”

“So you say,” she cocked a hip, for emphasis, to let him know exactly how seriously she took his godhood.

“So I do,” his eyes sparked and there was a hint of mirth behind them. He might have enjoyed a good moment of verbal sparring with her, had the situation not been so dire, she suspected. “I will be alright,” he assured her in a more level tone. “It will be a challenge, as I will also have to be the one to free you from your bonds.” His expression told her that he would relish the challenge.

“What about Myfanwy?” Astlyr questioned, feeling as though she ought to be coming up with some part of this plan.

Fen'Harel shook his head, red curls dancing. They moved a touch unnaturally in the Fade, she noticed. “She would need to go into the camp. I can free you from a distance with magic. I shall find something on which you can cut your bonds and send it through the sand to you.”

“More magic? But won't you need your mana to protect yourself from the demons here?”

Again there was a flash like lighting in his eyes. His raised his chin, cocky bravado seeming to have taken him over completely. “I have enough mana. Especially here,” he said and she had to admit that his grin was convincing. “Myfanwy will have a part in this plan. She must create a distraction so that you and the others are able to free yourselves without notice. You shall have to open the rift far enough from our injured so that demons do not attack and kill them.”

“Good point,” Astlyr said, considering. “What's the camp layout, do you know?”

Fen'Harel stooped and drew in the sand with one finger. Surprisingly it was not instantly washed away by the constant shifting. She knew more of his magic was a work. “Here, this is the largest tent and where I believe they have you imprisoned. There are two smaller tents here and here, and a hastily built lean-to, to shade the animals, at the far end of the camp. I believe they have your weapons in this tent, but do not make a try for them unless you are certain you will succeed.”

“It looks like the best place for the rift would be here-” Astlyr indicated a spot. Inwardly she was also planning her route to the weapons. There were going to be demons, she would need a sword. “If your map of the camp is accurate.” 

He took a moment to shoot her an appropriately insulted look before pressing on. “Alright. As soon as you are free, rush out of the tent to this spot and open a rift. If all goes to plan Myfanwy will have created a distraction to allow you the time you need. Once the rift is open I suggest you and the others retreat while the demons do their work.”

“Right,” Astlyr nodded, scowling at the map, memorizing it hastily. This was a highly risky endeavor indeed, and part of her liked that. While she was ever the tactical leader, a risky plan was often far more fun than a safe one. Here in the Fade it was easier to think it would all work out. Without her wounds and throbbing head. Then she felt that tug in her chest again and her palm prickled. “Dammit,” she said, holding up her left hand to examine it.

“What is it?” Fen asked, concerned.

“It's Cole, I think,” she admitted. “They're doing something to him and it's messing with our bond. At least I assume that's what's happening.”

“Your bond?”

Astlyr gave Fen'Harel and extremely abbreviated version of the Spirit Companion situation. He listened, an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes looked distant, perhaps lost. All the bravado was drained from him, if only for a few moments. “I...I should know...” he hesitated, raising slender fingers to his temple. “I know those words. Know that feeling of...” He closed his eyes, wincing, then let his hand drop. “I have no time for lost memories now,” he said, firmly. “We must enact our plan before something befalls our physical bodies. You must go back to the waking world and await the item I will send you to allow you to free yourself.”

“Right,” Astlyr said. “How do I do that?” There was no Cullen bruising her shin this time.

Fen'Harel sighed as though he thought her a bit dim, then stepped forward and reached up, touching her forehead lightly. It was as though he had shoved her brutally to the ground for now she tasted grit and pain surged through her body again. She had returned to the physical world and was regretting it more and more by the second. She made a little moaning sound which she had intended to be words.

“Astlyr?” Cullen's voice. Good. He hadn't passed out. Bless that man, she thought, reveling for the briefest of moments in the fact that he was hers.

She tried again to speak, and this time succeeded, telling him what she and Fen had come up with in a voice barely above a hiss.

“That's the plan? Summon demons? How badly did they hurt your head?”

“It will work,” she shushed. “We just have to stay clear until the Venatori are dead, then I can easily mop up whatever demons remain.”

“Oh. Easily,” Cullen's voice was drenched in more sarcasm than she was used to from him.

“Have some faith in me,” she retorted, wriggling her wrists experimentally. She hoped Fen'Harel would come through soon with something to cut her free. Everywhere the rope met her skin was rubbed raw. She desperately wished she could straighten her legs.

“I have all the faith in the world in you,” Cullen said, and he sounded like he meant every word, which made Astlyr feel both loved and alarmed at the same time.

“Have you heard anything of Cole while I was out?” she asked. She needed to think about something besides the pain in her head, and the desperate worry for her spirit friend was a good start.

“I heard him cry out again,” Cullen admitted, his voice gentle. “At least that means he's still alive.”

“Or he was when he screamed,” she mumbled, her heart feeling as though someone had replaced it with a hunk of rock. Not knowing where Cole was made the plan all the riskier. She could walk out of the tent and find that the Venatori had him tied up right where she planned to put a nice rift to the Fade. Could she get him clear in time? She thought of how terrified he must be, where ever he was, and her stone heart gave a sad little flop.

“Ouch,” Cullen grunted.

“What?” Astlyr tried to look towards him and the rope bit into her throat. She brought her head back, choking.

“Something just stabbed me in the hand,” His foot left her leg and she could hear him moving about to identify the object. “It's an arrow head with a bit of broken shaft. Half buried in the sand.”

“Fen,” Astlyr exhaled.

“What?”

“Fen'Harel sent it. Phase one of the plan, remember? We get free.”

“Right,” She heard Cullen moving more and then there was the steady rhythm of rope being slowly sawed through. “Couldn't have sent a dagger, eh?” Cullen complained as he worked on his bonds.

“Myfanwy must have needed hers,” Astlyr said, waiting impatiently for her turn. Her chest tightened again and she forced down her worry as her hand prickled. Whatever they had been doing to Cole they were still at it, it seemed. She would murder them for it. Of this she was certain.

Cullen had gotten his arms free. Before working on his legs he crawled over to her, first cutting the rope that held her neck, then setting to work on her hands and feet. Finally able to look around Astlyr caught sigh of Varric across the tent from them. Cullen was right. He didn't look good. His face was white as parchment and there was a lot of blood crusted in his hair, down his face, and onto his shoulder. At least he did not seem to be actively bleeding any longer. They hadn't bothered to hastily bandage him as they had her. They must have decided he wasn't worth the trouble. They would pay for that too, she thought, gritting her teeth so fiercely she could hear the grinding sound they made.

And then her hands and feet were free. As her muscles loosened new pains came to her attention. Her left arm was going numb from the shoulder down where she had been struck by that arrow. The wound on her calf was probably full of sand, bandage or no. A hundred smaller cuts and bruises cried out for equal attention, but she managed to ignore them. Her marked hand still stung, an insistent reminder of her task.

Cullen loosed his legs then moved silently over to see to Varric. Outside Astlyr could hear raised voices. She could also make out the shadow of at least two guards silhouetted against the tent as they stood watch by the door. She fervently hoped Myfanwy's distraction would be a good one. Her hand prickled again as he tried to massage life back into her arm and stifled a snarl. She turned to watch Cullen cut the ropes free from the dwarf. The man was gentle, stopping to check for a pulse. Astlyr knew Varric was not dead, she could see the rise and fall of his chest, but he could still be in very bad shape. “Strong pulse,” Cullen reassured her. “He's just got one hell of a head wound. I don't like that he's been unconscious for so long. It's not the best sign.”

Cullen rocked back on his heels, gritting his teeth. “How are you?” Astlyr questioned. He had not been bandaged either, she noticed, but had also not bled as badly as Varric. The wound his his head was superficial and had likely only dazed him rather than fully knocking him out. He gingerly favored his side as he moved back to join her where she crouched. The both watched the door guards suspiciously as the voices outside grew louder. Obviously some disagreement was being had and no one was being quiet about it.

“I'll live,” Cullen gave her a quick smile which managed to be reassuring.

Astlyr wished she dared to draw nearer the tent flap. To see if she could hear what was being said outside. Instead she hung back. Her head was swimming and every movement shocked her with a fresh stab of pain from one of her many injuries. She'd wait. Save her strength until the last moment. She curled her fingers into the veil, experimentally. Good. She felt it give like supple clay as she pressed her fingertips through. Tearing it would be as easy as ever. The anchor seemed to have little need for her to be at full strength. She felt it spark and pull, almost like a living thing. Eager to get its teeth into the Fade and rip. She let the veil go.

The heat of the day was kicking in and the tent began to grow stifling. Atslyr fought nausea as she and Cullen waited. They had moved to the back of the tent, where their fallen ropes littered the floor, and leaned shoulder to shoulder. It might have been an hour, though perhaps it was only fifteen minutes. Astlyr had no way to tell except to count the pounding beats in her head and the occasional sting of her mark as the Venatori did whatever they were doing to Cole. She contemplated charging out, distraction be damned. If it was not for Cullen's hand in hers and her wounds, she would have.

Then a new sound joined the voices outside. A roaring, screeching sound. Then shouts of “What the hell?!”

“Gods! What is-?”

There was the sound of running, more yelling and a lot more swearing. Plus what sounded like animals. Angry animals. One of the guard shadows vanished from the doorway as Astlyr and Cullen moved towards the flap, ready to act as soon as Astlyr judged the time was right. “I'll go for the weapons,” Cullen said and they scuttled towards the door, almost on hands and knees.

“Only if you see a safe path. Don't take risks,” she warned him.

The second guard turned and entered the tent. Before Astlyr had time to get her aching body to react Cullen tripped the man, then was on him in a heartbeat. One hand over the man's mouth, the other driving the arrowhead into his throat. Blood gurgled between Cullen's fingers, wrapped tightly over the man's lips and the hapless guard writhed, eyes rolling back as he died. Astlyr's mouth fell slightly open as Cullen climbed disdainfully free of the corpse, still holding the red-soaked arrow head. He caught her look and gave her a pained smile, “If you're attacked by an abomination you often have mere seconds to react. They taught us to be quick.”

“Templar training comes in handy again,” Astlyr said, slightly awed. “Are you ready?” She pulled aside the flap, peering out.

“When you are,” Cullen answered, resolute, arrowhead still clutched like a tiny dagger in his fist.

Astlyr peered out of the tent, blinking in the sunlight which struck her eyes like shards of glass. She winced, bearing her teeth fiercely. What she saw made her almost laugh. Myfanwy, for she could only assume that the chaos outside was caused by the elf, had set loose several angry looking Varghest in the camp, as well as the dracolisk that the Venatori had stolen from Astlyr. Magic shot every which way, which was a danger, but it looked as though the Venatori were in no position to notice her as their camp was thoroughly ripped apart by the wild animals and trained mounts alike. In the daytime, with the heat of the sun so warm them, the dracs were in fine form. They bit, kicked, headbutted and slashed with clawed forelegs. Astlyr hoped that none of them would be seriously hurt as she gave Cullen and nod and moved out into the sunlight, still keeping low.

She made her way through the camp, keeping her eyes open for Cole as the Venatori did their best to herd the scattered and angry dracs back together and to chase the rampaging Varghest from their camp. Not before a tent was knocked over and shredded by one of the creatures, who seemed to find the texture of the tent fabric fascinating. Astlyr was glad that Myfanwy had angled her attacking force so they would drive though the part of camp farthest from the tent where Astyr and the others were being held.

One of the Venatori did spot Astlyr, but in that same moment he was knocked down by a charging drac. Thorn. The beast met Astlyr's eyes, snorted, then charged away, tossing her head and reveling in causing chaos. Astlyr moved on, limping, but determined. Skirting the busy and confused Venatori Astlyr finally achieved her destination. She stood up now to her full height. Her eyes flashed as she reached for the veil. Nearby Venatori noticed her, but not soon enough. Her hand shredded into the veil as though it were paper. She felt the surge of mana from it. Felt the electric thrum as Fade magic roiled.

Someone screamed. Out of the tear in reality demons already began to tumble. Most were smaller. Hungry shades that sought out easy prey. Fortunately the dracs had enough sense to flee, though one poor varghest was slaughtered almost at once. A rage demon slumped from the rift then, eyes bright with malice, and Astlyr moved away. Her next objective was to locate Cole.

She skirted the edge of the camp, listening to the sounds of more demons pouring from the rift, ripping through tents an men alike. She fervently hoped that Cullen had gotten Varric out of there because their ex-prison was now in the line of fire. Her head was growing clearer. She wasn't certain if it was because her wounds were not as bad as they had first seemed, or because her blood was up. She wasn't in a full rage, but a certain clarity came over her in battle sometimes. Perhaps a healthy dose of Fade magic had helped. Thinking of Fade magic she felt her hand throb again, though not with the usual urgent plea to close a nearby rift. Instead it prodded her, almost seeming to nudge her in the right direction. As though tugging an invisible string around her hand.

She turned, following this new, instinctive urgency. There was Cole. He was situated a little distance from the camp and seemingly tied to a pole. There was a circle drawn around him in the sand with red powder, and she recognized some of the symbols. A summoning circle? She didn't see any summoning stones but as she charged towards him she was careful to disrupt the circle as much as possible by kicking great gaps into it.

At first Cole appeared to be alone, but then she spotted a mage still with him, appearing from behind a rock. He was a smallish fellow, weasely. He did not look entirely certain he wanted to tangle with Astlyr. His pale eyes kept flicking to her hand, which was alight with jumping green magic like electricity. Maybe he was worried she would open another portal right here and send more demons his way.

“Cole?” Astlyr questioned.

“Yes,” the boy answered, trying to turn to see her. He was tied so that he faced away from the camp. He was well trussed and looked as though they were planning to burn him at the stake, though there was no kindling at his feet.

Astlyr moved towards her friend, her eyes on the mage. He hadn't drawn his book from the pouch at his belt. Dorian had often scoffed at the waste of mana the Venatori employed to hover their spell books open before them. She recalled Dorian's scornful 'If you cannot be bothered to memorize your magics, why use them at all?' Astlyr knew she had no weapons; that this little mage technically had the upper hand if he chose to use it. Instead he seemed trapped in indecision. Perhaps, she realized as her fingers worked on the ropes holding Cole in place, this person was one of those who were considering worshiping her. Perhaps his new faith was growing stronger by the second because here she was, free of her bindings and setting demons loose on his people.

Astlyr tugged the last knot free and Cole struggled out of his bindings. To her relief he appeared relatively unharmed. He still bore the long cut on his arm and a few other wounds, but all looked superficial. He did look very stressed, even for him. His eyes had a hollowness she didn't like and he said little, coming to stand at her side and stare down the mage. “Are you alright, Cole?” she asked.

“They hurt me, Astlyr,” the boy said, low and gravely. “He hurt me.”

Astlyr reacted to the boy's words as though she had no control over her own body. She charged the mage. He threw a spell at her, which slammed into her shoulder, making her falter, but only a little. He reached for more magics, desperate panic in his eyes. Before he could cast again he was transfixed by an arrow through his throat. Astyr managed to stop her headlong charge, turning to see who had deprived her of her prey. Mayfanwy rode up, surprisingly managing a dracolisk all by herself. Her face was stoney and determined, but she gave Astlyr a quick, triumphant smile. “Come on. The others are waiting!”

It took Astlyr a moment to clear the rising rage from her mind. It was a good thing Myfanwy had already ridden away, she thought ruefully as she turned back to Cole. “Are you alright to walk?”

“Yes,” the boy answered, his voice implying that this was a ridiculous question. Astlyr had thought it a fair one. She had no idea what that mage and his cronies had been doing to her friend. She turned to follow Myfanwy, who she could still make out, moving back towards the camp, but edging to the right. Astlyr wasn't certain in the elf was just losing control of her mount until she spied the slender, upright figure of Fen'Harel standing atop a dune.

Astlyr was slowing down now. Her injuries were catching up to her, though she tried to ignore them. Her head was swimming again and her leg felt like it wanted to give out. It felt as though the sand was trying to pull her down with each, painful step. She could still hear the sound of the demons decimating the Venatori camp off to her left. The anchor mark thrummed. Now that she had found Cole it called to her to close the rift. She knew she would need to do this soon, or they too would be overrun with demons, but she wanted to rally with her people first. Make certain no one was missing.

She half expected Cole to teleport on ahead. Instead he grabbed her good arm and threw it over his slender shoulders. To be honest he wasn't much help at holding her up, dwarfed as he was in both height and weight, but he did help her keep her balance when the world tilted. She felt his soothing gift wash over her like a cool touch, but it did not have the potency it usually brought to bear. Every time she raised her head she thought Fen looked further away.

When they reached him at last he skidded down the dune and took Astlyr's other arm to help. She grunted as her shoulder wound protested, but allowed the two men to lead her on. Behind the dune Fen'Harel had set up a little rally point in the relative shade. She knew that at one time in the day this spot would not have been sheltered at all and both Myfanwy and Fen'Harel would have been exposed to the merciless sun. Even with their desert attire she could tell they were both burned.

Myfanwy was struggling to contend with the dracs, who kept lunging and stamping. They could hear a fight going on and wanted to participate. The elf could only tie them together and hold on in hopes of stopping them. Astlyr could see they had already bitten their unwilling handler at least twice. “Cullen and Varric?” Astlyr questioned urgently.

This time Cole did teleport away. She felt the welcome rush of icy air as the boy vanished from her side. Fen'Harel approached her, healing magic already glowing on his hands. Astlyr waved him off for the moment. She climbed to the top of the dune, taking a knee and scanning the terrain for her friends. Then she spotted them. Cullen had gotten Varric clear, thank goodness, but they had gone the wrong direction. Cole was leading them carefully around the camp, which swarmed with demons and the sound of dying.

Cullen made the rise of the dune, carrying Varric on his shoulders. Cole moved along with them, soothing hands on the dwarf and man, using his gift to lift their pain from them. This was likely why they had made such good time. None the less, once they had reached the safety of the dune Cullen collapsed to his knees, half easing Varric from his shoulders, and half dropping him in the sand. Astlyr slid down to join them, clumsily coming to rest beside her lover.

Myfanwy made a stifled sound at the sight of the dwarf. He was finally awake, but his face was ashy and he looked miserable. He made eye contact with Astlyr and she knew his wits were still with him. She silently thanked whatever powers might be watching over them. She turned to Cullen, who knelt, drenched in sweat and panting. He extended an arm to her and managed to land it on the back of her neck, pulling her forehead to his, ignoring her horns.

Fen'Harel once again called healing magic to his hands, ready to aid the group, when the first demon found its way over the dune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, there's that badass Cullen we were all waiting for. In fact, everyone got a chance to be a bamf in this chapter! Astlyr got to dump demons on people, Myfanwy got to come riding in on a shining steed. Ok, so Varric got to be unconscious. No everyone was a badass. People need to stop hitting that poor dwarf on the head! If there are head wounds being handed out it seems that Varric is first in line.
> 
> Demons creeping over dunes. Everyone looking pretty damn beat to hell. What will happen next?
> 
> Here's a picture of Fen'Harel in Daveth form: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Daveth-Post-Fen-Harel-537083470
> 
> Any thoughts out there in reader land? Feel free to share, as always! :D
> 
> Keep up to date on things here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> Next chapter (hopefully) 6/11/15


	28. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imaginative chapter title is imaginative. Just as good as "Ambush" am I right? haha. Last chapter Astlyr and her friends were in peril. This chapter...still peril, but not quite as much ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

Part 28  
Healing

The demon was, fortunately, only a shade. Cole was on it first, slashing his twin blades into its raggedy flesh. Fen'Harel stepped up next, calling the sand to coil around the creature's lower half to hold it in place for the spirit boy. In mere moments the unfortunate shade must have severely regretted its sojourn over the dune. Astlyr actually felt a little sorry for it as it gave a pitiful cry as it crumpled to the sand, reduced to ash.

The demon dealt with, Astlyr clambered to her feet again, her body complaining the whole way. She was loath to free herself from Cullen's hand, but she knew she had to get back down to the rift. If demons were already finding their way to Astlyr's company it probably meant that the Venatori were dead, or as a good as.

She squinted down at the encampment. All of the tents were torn down and lay in shredded piles. There were patches of ice where mages had attempted to slow the fiery rage demons' progress. She could also make out large puddles of blood, even from this distance. The Venatori were not used to dealing with the angrier denizens of the Fade. This much was obvious. She could see their sloppy tactics mapped out across their ruined camp like the painted steps of a dance. She could also see the ugly green tear in the veil, just waiting for her to do her job. To sew it shut with the strange magic only she could wield.

“I have to get down there,” she growled.

“You need healing,” Fen'Harel said, she was a little surprised at his concern expression.

“See to the others. I need to close that rift,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she wondered what would be the best way in.

“Healing first,” the mage insisted, raising his hands to her.

“Varric needs you,” she snapped. She wished he would stop distracting her. She was trying to concentrate on her plan of attack. She could still see a few of the larger demons stalking around, already sniffing out where she and her friends were concealed by the dune. More would tumble from the rift she knew. She chewed her lip, annoyed when she felt the soothing touch of healing magic, unwanted as it was.

“Where are the weapons?” she asked, noticing that Cullen had not succeeded in liberating any.

“There, I believe,” Fen paused his ministrations to point as one of the toppled tents. He held out a hand, palm up, fingers crooked like a claw. With a sharp upward motion he jerked the sand around the tent and shifted the material enough that Astlyr could make out a toppled weapons rack. It might not be her gear, but it was better than nothing.

“Get everyone as patched up as you can,” she instructed Fen'Harel, who fixed her with a scrutinizing gaze, “we're going to have to go down and close that rift. You knew that when you came up with the plan.”

“Chuckles was responsible for this plan?” Varric spoke for the first time. His voice was a little slurred, but still bore its sarcastic edge, “no wonder we're having so many problems.”

“I'll have you know, this is going well,” the mage retorted, unable to hide the quick smile that flitted across his features.

“Your idea of 'well' is clearly different from mine,” the dwarf mumbled, gesturing weakly to the pile of ash that had been the demon they had just slaughtered.

“What now?” Cullen came to crouch beside Astlyr, scanning the camp with a practiced eye.

“If we flank around to the left we should be able to get our hands on some weapons. Lucky us that I placed the rift so far from the weapons tent.” Astlyr grinned grimly.

“Lucky,” Varric snarked, once again proving that no wound could stall his wit.

“Or,” Fen'Harel had a smirk still on his face, “we send Cole down and he can telelport back with your gear.”

Astlyr bristled, “I will not allow Cole to go into danger like that alone. There are a decent number of demons down there, and an open Fade rift. I don't know for certain what it might do to him.”

“I don't think it would harm me,” Cole said, his voice level and utterly devoid of fear. It often struck Astlyr what was capable of making Cole afraid. Demons and Fade rifts were treated as mildly inconvenient, but emotional turmoil was cause for panic. She supposed that someone who came from a world so actively affected by the emotions of her own would likely be intimidated by them when he encountered them himself, where as demons were seen every day. She shook her head. “No. We go in as a team. Myfanwy, we'll need you. Can you figure out what to do with those creatures?”

“I'll try,” the elf said, sounding and looking thoroughly annoyed by the dracolisks who still danced and tossed their heads wildly.

“I can help,” Cole announced, teleporting up beside Thorn, who snorted loudly and clacked her teeth. She snapped at Cole when the boy reached a slender hand towards her, but the spirit was quick. “Hush,” he whispered, touching his fingertips to the scales of Thorn's face. At first the action seemed to have little affect as the dracolisk squawked and threw her head back, eyes glinting. Then she lowered her head again suddenly calm. The other dracs each took a turn being graced with Cole's gift until they all stood still and docile as any well trained horses.

Cullen whistled low, impressed. “I forget you can do that sort of thing.”

“Most people do,” Cole shrugged, his glassy blue-grey eyes darting up to meet Astlyr's for a moment. She searched them for any sign of what the Venatori had done to him, but saw nothing.

“Are we ready?” Astlyr asked of her people. Fen'Harel moved from one to another, giving quick healing of their worst injuries. She locked eyes with Varric, “You should stay here. Someone needs to watch the dracs and your head is the worst of any of us.”

“Thanks, Pointy,” Varric grumbled, trying his best to look insulted with blood all down the side of his face.

“Alright,” Astlyr said, eying her sorry group. At least Myfanwy had her bow and Fen'Harel his staff. “It will be up to the two of your to keep the demons busy while the rest of us grab weapons,” she addressed the elves. “Cole, I want you to stick with us. No teleporting ahead. We need you in the formation.”

“Yes,” the boy said, simply. He stepped in to the space he knew was his, slightly behind Cullen, who stood at Astlyr's right shoulder.

“Once we have our weapons the priority is closing the rift, so I will concentrate on that. The rest of you will have to keep the demons busy.”

“Try not to get killed. I'd hate to have to ride in on one of these things and save all your asses,” Varric said, gesturing to the quiet dracolisks.

“Right, let's save Varric the trouble,” Astlyr gave everyone her best cocky grin, trying to imitate the Fen'Harel she had seen in the Fade. “Everyone ready? Good. Let's move.”

The group skittered down the face of the dune towards the camp. Struck by the glaring sunlight Astlyr wished she had her head covering, as troubling as it was to put on. Fen had healed her wounds superficially, but much of her still ached. She tried not to let this distract her, or Cole for that matter, as she knew the boy sensed each twinge from herself and her comrades. She was impressed that he was keeping focused on the task at hand rather than trying to sooth everyone's pain.

The demons that were now milling about the rift looking a bit lost noticed Astlyr's group almost immediately, and moved to intercept with varying haste. Astlyr could see a particularly large pride demon had just lumbered from the rift, blinking small eyes as it took in its new surroundings. That would be a hassle, she thought as Fen and Myfanwy dispatched the frontrunners who were charging up to meet them.

With the mage and archer doing their best to keep the demons back Astlyr, Cullen and Cole reached the downed weapons tent in good time. Astlyr scooped up the nearest blade to hand, passing it back to Cullen she threw the tent fabric aside. A halberd was the next thing she saw and, though she had little experience with long weapons, it was better than no weapon at all. Cole reached under the tent and came out with a throwing dagger. He immediately launched it at a nearby despair demon as it drew too close. The creature fell, dagger lodged between the eyes.

Astlyr swung her new pike around and skewered a larger monstrosity as it lurched towards her group. It was Cullen's turn to dig under the fallen fabric and toppled tent poles. He was seemingly not satisfied with the sword alone and soon located a shield. He also managed a shortsword, which he passed to Cole. The boy teleported to the ashy pile which was all that remained of the demon he had slain, and retrieved the throwing dagger. Another demon made a grab for him, but found itself transfixed by an arrow before it could even fully extend a claw.

“Cole!” Astlyr scolded, “formation!”

“I'm sorry,” the boy teleported back to Astlyr and Cullen, this time staying tight with them.

Myfanwy was in rare form. Perhaps it was a mixture of desperation and adrenaline, but her marksmanship was impeccable. Astlyr did not see a single arrow miss its mark. Soon several demons resembled otherworldly pincushions.

Astlyr turned her attention to the rift and the pride demon who now fixed her with small eyes like a beetle's. “Well now,” it snarled. Astlyr gritted her teeth. She hated when they could talk. “What do we have here? A little creature who thinks it can face us? My my my.” She could sense it already reaching, trying to search her mind and find how it might twist her, tempt her to its will.

“You must be new,” Astlyr smirked, deftly dispatching an impish demon as it made an ill advised grapple for her legs. “I'm the Inquisitor. This is what I do.” She reached for the rift, feeling the rush of pain as a green thread of Fade magic stretched out to connect her hand to the tear in the fabric of reality. The demon hesitated, seemingly baffled by her lack of fear and her sudden power over the rift. She relished its stupefied confusion as she tugged her arm back, the Fade magic surging up her arm with electric energy. The beast was standing too close to the rift, and as Astlyr balled her hand into a fist, drawing the tear back in on itself, the demon was sucked inside with a roar. Not a pleasant way to return to the Fade, Astlyr thought, but an effective one.

She jerked her elbow back and the green, churning magic vanished as though it had never been. An electric pain surged up her arm, then faded. She turned to the chaos still free in the camp and set her jaw. “Now to clean up,” she muttered darkly, taking a position slightly behind Cullen's shield.

Astlyr and her men dispatched the rest of the demons with relative ease. Even Cullen, who hadn't been in the field with them in her prime rift-closing days, fell right into step. Well, she supposed, he did have a reason to find killing demons cathartic.

Once they were certain that every demon was reduced to a pile of ash with sand kicked over it for good measure, and that all the Venatori were dead or fled, they set about cleaning up the camp. Why waste good tents, weapons and food, Astlyr reasoned. First, of course, they removed the Venatori bodies to a safe distance and burned them as best they could without magical fire. Astlyr once again found herself missing Dorian. She wondered idly how her friend was doing back in Skyhold. Enjoying soft beds and no sand forcing itself into every fold of his clothing, she reasoned sourly as she helped pull the least damaged tent back to an upright position. Once the need for shade was seen to she and the others gathered Varric and the dracs. They managed to hitch the beasts, which were already starting to shake off their spirit-stupor, in the shade of what remained of the animal lean-to the Venatori had made.

With all this out of the way the group finally collapsed onto the sand in the tent they had erected. Astlyr's body finally gave in to the soreness and she let herself slouch wearily. Varric grunted as he took a spot opposite her. His face was still crusted with blood, but Myfanwy, the least weary of the group, set about gently cleaning it with warm water from a canteen. The Venatori had enough drinking water stashed about that it could be used frivolously.

Fen'Harel moved through the group, dispensing healing. He knelt in front of Astlyr, lifting a hand to her face his fingers hovered just above her skin, not touching, but spreading healing magic like paint. It felt cool and wonderful. Her head gave one last throb, as though unwilling to let the pain go, then settled at last. “See to the rest of my men,” she stayed his hand before he could finish the hasty healing he had done on her other injuries. “Come back to me.”

He met her eyes and there was understanding behind them. He gave her a quick smile with cracked lips. Everyone was generally looking sunburned and overheated. Fen'harel handed her a canteen. “We all need to rehydrate,” he said sagely before he want to do as he was bidden and heal the rest of the team before Astlyr.

Cole was also doing his rounds. Soothing pain with cool fingers and passing out water and little rations of salt to help with the dehydration. When he had finished he returned to Astlyr, and to her surprise, folded himself into her lap without a word. She didn't know quite what to do or how to react. Everyone stared at them. Neither Cole nor Astlyr had ever been seen to be quite so physical with one another. Astlyr was instantly ashamed of how awkward she felt, knowing the boy could sense it. She hoped he wouldn't take her thoughts as a slight, or a sign she didn't want him. Instead the spirit tucked up long legs and arms like a child seeking comfort.

Astlyr got the sudden sensation of something being drawn from her into him. A very small amount of energy. Nothing she would have even noticed if she had not been so intent on what was happening.

Cole finally seemed aware of all the eyes on him, and of Astlyr's bafflement. “Those mages,” he began, “they wanted to know how I worked. They wanted to take me apart and see how I fit. Wheels inside wheels they said. Winding, wending, worrying it loose. They bit at me with their spells to try to make me break. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I made them confused, and being confused made them angry.”

Fen'Harel paused in his healing of Cullen's rib. His hair had fallen over one eye, but his gaze was still intense, “they tried to turn you, Cole?”

“That's not what they wanted at first,” the boy said. “They knew I was a spirit and they wanted to know how I could be me, walking around. How I had human form. I told them I was me and they didn't like that answer. Their magic was like hot iron sticking in my stomach. Trying to burn up my insides, but they couldn't reach them. I wished they would stop.”

Astlyr found herself tucking Cole against her now, trying to give him even more of her energy. He could have whatever he wanted.

Fen crouched in front of the boy, holding out a hand he ran his own, green magic over Cole. Cole flinched, but settled as he realized Fen'Harel's spell was not hurting him. “It does seem as though he was magically attacked” he affirmed, “I doubt another spirit could have withstood it. Perhaps the amulet protected-”

“They broke my amulet,” Cole said, in a pitiful, small voice. He reached under the collar of his shirt and pulled out the item. It looked mostly intact, but there was a noticeable chip taken out of it.

Fen'Harel carefully took the amulet, scrutinizing it. He let his magic skitter across the mottled surface. “I cannot be certain if the damage has caused it to stop functioning. I still sense a power within it. I believe something yet protects you, Cole. Otherwise those mages would have corrupted you with their magics.” He let the amulet fall on its thin chain to settle around Cole's neck again.

Astlyr felt the boy sag slightly in her arms, obviously relieved. He had stopped pulling as much energy from her now, though he had not drawn more than a trickle to begin with. She still felt an odd connection to him. Like the nudging of the veil when she opened a rift. A gentle reminder that there was something more than could be seen in the world. “Now,” Fen rocked back on his heels, flexing his fingers before going back to his healing, “Astlyr, would you feel comfortable telling us about this 'Spirit Companion' situation you mentioned to me earlier?”

Astlyr hesitated, but Cole made no effort to stop her. Instead he nestled down in her arms like a cat. She suspected he might even be wearing a slightly smug expression, as if to claim her as his own. Resting her chin on the top of his head she related more fully what Cole had discovered in the Fade that night in Skyhold. How he had concluded that he might be her Spirit Companion. Everyone alternated looking at her, and then at Fen'Harel, as though seeking confirmation from the elf.

When Astlyr had finished Fen'Harel had completed his healing and sat down, cross legged. The cool of the evening had faded, heralding the sharp cold of night in the desert. Cole had moved from her lap, helping locate where their food packs had been stowed, and doling out a meal. They did not light a fire. Instead they stayed in the tent, which was lit from within by the gentle glow of veil fire. Astlyr knew that they should set a guard soon, though she was certain that the dracs would set up a wailing if anyone approached. The creatures were still excited from the day and Cole's soothing gift had worn off. That, and the camp still smelled of death and demons, which would keep the local wildlife thinking twice about checking it out.

“So you and the Kid are bonded now? Or something like that?” Varric asked, popping a handful of dates into his mouth. He'd managed to locate the Venatori food stores, and they had not been stingy. “You had better not tell the Iron Lady. I think she'd insist on having you locked away before one or both of you turned into a demon.”

“But I won't turn into a demon,” said Cole, sounding a little hurt by the implication.

“I know that, Kid,” Varric soothed, “but The Lady has always been, well, more than a little suspicious of you. Didn't she call you 'Demon' for several months?”

“She still does sometimes,” Cole relented, sitting with his feet together and grasping them with his hands. “It's because she's afraid. Demons scare her, but she won't admit it. She wants to be stronger than them. She wants to scare away her fears.”

“Oh Maker, wait until Sparkler hears,” Varric went on, a good mood prevailing on his amiable features which were finally clean of blood. “He'll probably want to run tests, then consult with several hundred tomes. Can I put this whole thing in my book, Pointy?”

Astlyr chuckled, “as long as you let me see it before you publish. This particular subject is not one I am in a hurry to dramatize.”

“The drama is the best part,” Varric gesticulated grandly and Myfanwy, who was sitting beside him, stifled a chuckle. “A spirit boy, alone and lost, finds a friend and Companion in the rare snarky qnari.”

“Rare indeed,” Fen'Harel said. He was sitting almost perfectly still, meditative. Astlyr could sense a little Fade magic prickling around him. Perhaps he had called it to himself somehow. She wondered if he found it comforting. “I wish I could tell you more of this discovery, but-”

“Your memories, I know,” Astlyr said, waving away the mage's concern. “I understand. Who knows, maybe what happened all those ages ago isn't even what Cole went through. There weren't qunari back then, and I have this,” she held up her hand, the anchor mark barely visible in the wan Fade-light of the veilfire.

Fen'Harel's expression grew deeper still. Beyond mere scrutiny as he looked at the anchor before she lowered her hand again. His eyes followed it as she did so. She glanced at Cole, but he gave her a look which spoke of hidden thoughts and old pain, all that he was able to draw from the god.

“So, Kid,” Varric broke the moment's tension, “why'd you pick Pointy? You and I are friends. Why not be my spirit whatever?”

“Companion,” Cole correct, considering Varric's words. “Maybe because you can't be connected to the Fade. You always walk in this world and the other is locked to you. I need someone who can travel the Fade as well as this world.”

“Hmmmm, so not dwarves. What about Chuckles then?” Varric gestured to the mage. “You and he were pretty good pals for a while there.”

“Oh no, I-” Fen raised his hands in sudden protestation, but Cole cut him off.

“He's already got one. Protected like a pearl in the corners of his heart. She's gone now. Mist mingled in memory, muddy and muddled. Not what she was. Where did she go?”

Fen'Harel did not answer. He looked down, allowing his dark curls to obscure his face like a curtain. Astlyr felt her heart twinge. She could guess who Fen's Spirit Companion may have been. Wisdom. The spirit those idiot mages had carelessly corrupted into something twisted and terrible. Astlyr couldn't imagine what she would do to anyone who attacked Cole in such a way, but she suspected it would involve physical violence and lots of it. The boy sensed her sadness and moved to her, placing a slim hand on her shoulder. He did not press Fen'Harel for more details.

Varric too knew they were treading dark territory and changed the subject. He turned to Myfanwy, “So, how did you and Chuckles make your daring escape from the Venatori to come rescue us?”

Myfanwy's eyes grew wide as though struck with a sudden recollection which excited her greatly. She looked to Fen'Harel, who dipped his head in a nod, “as Astlyr was good enough to share her special discovery with us, you may share yours as well.”

Astyr had to stifle a grin. Seldom had she seen the elvish woman look so excited. Myfanwy sat forward, drawing herself into the greenish firelight for emphasis. “When the battle began I was one of the first to be attacked, of course, as I was on watch. I managed to slip free with only minimal injuries. I sounded the alarm and tried to keep myself out of the middle of things. An archer is no good if she has no space to aim. I made it to the edge of camp, passing Fen'Harel's tent on my way. He came out and joined me. Our intention was to get the rest of you out of the kill-sack, but then we realized how many Venatori there were. Then they spotted us casting spells and firing arrows,” she paused for dramatic effect, noting the pleased expression on Varric's face with a little smirk of her own. “Several came after us, but we managed to fight them off. Now both of us were injured and we knew we could not reach you. So...” she drew this moment out all the longer until Cole almost spoke it for her. Her words rushed out before the boy could spoil the surprise, “Fen'Harel changed into his animal form!” she grinned from ear to ear.

“His what?” Cullen asked, helping himself to a few dates from the little pack Varric was passing around.

“All of the elvhen gods were able to change into another form,” Fen'Harel explained, obviously struggling not to look smug.

“His is a wolf,” said Cole.

“I imagine so,” Cullen chuckled.

“Sometimes he's a little wolf,” Cole pressed on, a look of concentration on his wan features. “Other times he's...something else. They called him a demon, but he's not. Its bigger. Teeth and eyes and rage roiling over. Walking shadow of the one they created together.”

“I didn't see that version,” Myfanwy admitted, looking a little disappointed.

“Nor will you,” Fen said, firmly. “Such a form requires a great deal of magical energy. Power which I do not currently possess. The battle last night was the first time I was even able to take on my lesser wolf form. Without my foci I cannot achieve the greater.”

“So he turned into a wolf?” Varric asked. “That must have been a surprise. What happened next.”

“It was even more surprising for the people attacking us,” Myfanwy said, with a little smirk.

“Mages that can change their form are extremely rare,” Cullen added, “I think I've only met one, and that was Morrigan. The Venatori can't have been expecting it.”

“They were not,” It was Fen'Harel's turn to wear cocky grin. His lips curled wolfishly in the light of the veil fire.

“He transformed and ripped out one Venatroi throat before they knew what was happening,” Myfanwy said, getting into the story and talking with her hands, more animated than Astlyr was used to seeing her. Fen made a face as if to indicate how disgusting the throat ripping had been. “And were they ever startled when the wolf started casting spells!”

“You can cast in your alternate form?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“I can, but it is extremely difficult,” Fen'Harel folded his hands in his lap, returning himself to a posture of rest.

Myfanwy went on, “There were too many Venatori for us to reach you, and we wouldn't have surprise on our side for long, plus I was almost out of arrows. So Lord Fen'Harel led me away and we tried to work out a plan to save you.”

“We appreciate it,” Varric chuckled as he set out a few more loaves of the Venatori's fruit-filled bread and a bottle of good brandy for everyone to share. “From what I hear you were very heroic. Riding in on a bucking dracolisk. That's definitely going in the book.”

Astlyr smiled at Varric's enthusiasm, but she turned her attention back to Fen'Harel. “Can you change into a wolf right now?”

The elvish mage looked apologetic, “I am afraid it would use more mana than I currently posses.”

“That's alright,” Astlyr reassured him, “we believe you and Myfanwy.”

“I would like to see it some time,” Varric grumbled, “so I can get the details right for the book.”

“Have no fear, Child of the Stone. Now that I have recovered my wolf form it will likely come in useful again in our travels.” Fen'Harel said, helping himself to a hunk of the hearty bread before leaning back against the tent pole.

“In the mean time...” Myfanwy rummaged through her things and pulled out a small sketch pad and charcoal. Many of her charcoal pieces had not survived the ordeal, but she managed to scrape together a few unbroken ones and began sketching madly. Varric leaned over her shoulder and they discussed his book, and the possible inclusion of her illustrations.

Fen'Harel finished his bread and settled in, sighing as he closed his eyes, obviously allowing weariness to claim him. Cole had gone outside to stand guard. Astlyr could almost feel his attention, his intense watchfulness. He was not about to allow them to be ambushed again. Her skin prickled slightly as she somehow knew he was reaching out with everything he had, scouring the dunes for ill intent.

Cullen came to sit beside her bearing more food and drink. “We all need to replenish our strength,” he said, taking a long drought of water from a skin and handing it to her.

Astlyr took the water and drank. It was warmish, but still refreshing. Her whole body was aching dully, something Fen'Harel's magic could not touch. It would be a waste of mana to sooth every sore muscle. She flexed a shoulder, pressing fingers to the tight flesh. And then Cullen was behind her, rubbing her shoulders. She almost laughed aloud. What sort of gods had she pleased for them to bring her such a man?

Cullen was a warrior, and knew his was around a massage. Astlyr recalled her days with the merc band, when, after a good fight, they would work out sore muscles together. It was not a sexual activity, but rather a necessary one. It was also an excellent way to discover wounds you didn't know you had and cement bonds in the group. Cullen had certainly done such a thing as a templar. His hands skillfully found every place where a warrior's muscles might be tightest. Her shoulders, her arms, the small of her back. For a long moment she was content to melt with pleasure.

When he finished She gestured that he come and sit before her for his turn. This he did with a grateful smile. She was careful, as she kneaded his shoulders, not to press too hard. Men had often complained of her qunari strength nearly breaking bones. Though she knew this was mostly in jest, she still restrained herself.

“Astlyr,” Cullen said, his voice soft so the others would not hear. Varric and Myfanwy were engaged in another drawing project like the co-conspirators they had been on The Griffin. The wolf had been sketched and now the dwarf was describing Corypheus to the young artist, testing her skill. Fen'Harel appeared to be asleep, or at least in deep meditation.

“Yes?” Astlyr asked, bracing a hand against his arm and using her elbow to dig out a particularly nasty knot.

Cullen grunted with pleasure as she worked, but voiced his concern. “You and Cole. You're...bonded?”

“Yes. Something like that. I don't quite know how it works.” she admitted as her hands moved to coaxing free a tight band of muscle in his lower back. Then a thought struck her, “but it isn't romantic! Not even slightly! Cole clearly has no inclination towards that at all, and I would never...I mean, he's only a boy!” She made a revolted face which Cullen could not appreciate.

He turned slightly, chuckling as he looked up at her. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a sweet way that made her heart melt. “I know that, Astlyr,” he reassured her. “I never assumed there would be anything romantic there. But...I am concerned. Does he...does he mind me at all?”

“What?”

“We're together now, and he and you have just discovered some sort of bond. I don't want to upset him. I'll...back off if I make him insecure. I know how much he means to you.”

“Oh, Cullen,” Astlyr's voice softened with adoration. “Cole,” she called, so quietly there was no way the boy could have heard from outside the tent, but he appeared beside her in an instant, grey-blue eyes expectant. “Do you mind that Cullen and I are together?”

“No,” Cole wrinkled his nose, “He makes you happy. You make him feel like dancing on the inside. I want people to be happy,” he said, as though hers was the silliest question he had ever heard. He looked at Cullen, searching his thoughts for a moment, then a quick grin flitted over his face, “Astlyr has enough love for us both. She is very big after all.” he said, then vanished in a puff of cool air and disturbed sand, back out to keep watch.

“There, you see, you absurd man?” she swatted his shoulder gently before returning to her massaging.

“You're absurd to-oooooooo,” his words melted into a moan as Astlyr brought her fingertips to the back of his neck. “Oooooh...you have no idea how long that kink has been there.”

“Would the two of you just get a tent?” Varric snarked, looking up from Myfanwy's drawings.

“We have one,” Astlyr gestured to the canvas around them, smirking.

“Think of the children,” Varric retorted, his eyes glinting with mirth.

“Cole's outside,” Astlyr countered.

“Well dammit. What about my virgin eyes?”

“Your eyes are as virgin as I am.”

“Can we please stop this?” Cullen pleaded, though he too was smiling. “Think of my virgin eyes!”

“You mean you haven't sealed the deal yet, Pointy?” Varric scoffed and Myfanwy snorted, trying very hard to keep her face down as she pretended to draw.

“Oh we did,” Cullen assured the dwarf, “but she's so scary I had to keep my eyes closed.”

They all devolved into laughter. The loud, almost desperate laughter of friends who have been hurt together and healed together. Who had recently overcome something that might have torn them asunder. They had laughed this way after every near miss, Astlyr realized. It must be important, this jollity after battle.

The friends finally settled in. Cole came to report that he had no indication of any more attackers. Venatori or otherwise. He urged his friends to get some sleep, though none were eager to. Each fearing, however irrationally, that another such surprise assault would come their way. Finally they settled on the usual guard rotations and Varric went out to watch with Cole for the first shift.

Astlyr lay down on her bedroll, not bothering to tuck herself inside it. If there was another crisis she was eager to be able to get up quickly. Cullen curled against her back, his arm over her, protectively. She thought of how absurd a notion it was, that she should need protecting. Yet she appreciated the gesture. The proclamation before everyone of his right to at least attempt to defend her. She smiled, feeling his warm body against her back. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, kissing the place where a knot of rope had held her. In this blissful position she let herself drift into slumber.

To her mild surprise she found herself in the Fade. This time she was not standing knee deep in roiling sands. Instead she was inside a tent, not unlike the one her body rested in in the waking world. Here, however, the tent wavered and rippled like water and she thought that if she touched it, her hand would pass right through. The tent was riding the waves of sand like a ship, up and over and down. Astlyr was glad there seemed to be no seas-sickness in the Fade because the tent was rising and falling quite vigorously.

A whimper caught Astlyr's attention and she turned to see the black wolf, Fen'Harel, walking towards her. He seemed to have been curled up in the corner. His tail gave a little wag, as though asking her forgiveness for invading her dreams. He looked up at her with diamond blue eyes, seeming uncertain. “Come on then,” she said, sitting down on the rocking floor of the tent.

The wolf padded over to her, head low, and lay down at her side, resting his head on her knees. She rubbed behind his ear, which he seemed to enjoy. “You know this is weird, right? I mean, you're a person out there. In the other world. I'm scratching the ears of a person.”

“I was always a person,” the wolf spoke without moving its canine lips. Its eyes moved to gaze up at her and she was reminded of her old dog again.

“And I forget you can talk,” she said, stroking Fen'Harel's soft head. “Are you alright?” she asked after a moment. His eyes had drifted closed and he lay, head on her leg, very still save for his breathing. Astlyr wondered why anyone had to breath in the Fade.

“I am,” he reassured her, placing a paw on her thigh, “I am merely weary and in need of some company.”

“I am good company,” Astlyr chuckled. Having the wolf god to herself she decided to get a few answers to highly unimportant questions. “Fen...have you had many...you know, lovers in your travels?”

“A few. Nothing lasting,” Fen said without hesitation. “I never stayed to reveal myself. Never bared my soul or shared my troubles. I let them rest their heads on my shoulder, and then I moved on.”

“I see,” Astlyr rubbed his shoulders were his fur was thick and a little courser. “Did you and any of your fellow gods ever...?”

“Of course. From time to time,” Fen'Harel answered.

“You and Ghilan'nain?”

“We...we did. Yes. We broke our relationship off long before the humans came. When I began to see how my fellow gods were behaving and withdrew to the Fade to dream.”

“What about Mythal?”

“My, we are nosy tonight,” the wolf raised its head, ears pricked forward.

“You usually don't give me so many answers. I have to take what I can,” Astlyr explained, matter-of-factly.

“You've caught me in a moment of weakness,” the wolf huffed, laying its head back down. “Fair enough,” it sighed, “Mythal and I were never romantic. We were friends, good friends, but her heart always belonged to another, and mine, well, mine would never let me be still. Never settle in or settle down, as she wished for her life.”

“Interesting,” Astlyr said, intrigued. “Er, Fen?”

“Yes, ma falon?”

Asltyr didn't know what he had just called, her and she guessed he must be weary indeed to be slipping into the elvish tongue. Still, she asked, a grin quirking her lips. “Can you turn into a giant shadow wolf here? Just to show me?”

“No,” was his firm reply, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh well,” she sighed resting a hand on his head. “Good sleep, Fen'Harel.”

“Rest well, lethallan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slower chapter (at least at the end).
> 
> Am I the only one friend-shipping Varric and Myfanwy so hard? Varric's books are going to become the best picture books ever! Or the most scarring...?
> 
> Yes, you heard correctly, Fen called Astlyr lethallan which can mean "kin". In his defense he was really really tired.
> 
> Also, apparently Astlyr is a battery now. Hook some jumper cables up to her. Now I can't stop picturing her with jumper cables attached to each horn. Oh gods.
> 
> Any of you out there in reader land artists? Anyone good at drawing Varric? I want a picture of Myfanwy and Varric being all adorable and working together and I don't know if I'll have time to draw one. However, here are some random sketches for y'all of Finna and a couple other DA OCs:  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Finna-and-another-OC-538111007  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Crow-Fallow-OC-538112142
> 
> Next chapter: 6/18/15
> 
> I'm only a few good writing days away from getting to the end of this book!! If only I could get more than 30 mins of writing in at a time. Damn life. *Shakes fist*


	29. The God Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool title is way better than the last one.
> 
> In the previous chapter we finally had a breather from all the peril. In this chapter we have tunnels and runes.
> 
> I edited this beauty rather last minute, so I apologize if there are more typos than usual.

Part 29  
The God Seeker

Astlyr took her turn at the watch and the night was still and quiet as a desert could be. Distantly she heard the yip and snarl of foxes fighting, and the occasional grunt of a larger beast roving, but there was no sign of any further Venatori attack. She and Cole had a pleasant time simply being in one another's company. Little was said, but little needed to be. Cole seemed much less driven to share aloud every pain or worry she felt. It was enough for her to know that he sensed them. When her watch was over she curled back up with Cullen after waking Myfanwy for her turn, and the final shift of the night.

Some time later, in which Astlyr's slumber was dreamless with no images of the Fade or god-wolves within it, she was wakened by a different sound. Cullen had rolled away from her slightly and was obviously in distress. His eyelids fluttered and he muttered urgently, “No. No, leave me, demon! No!”

Some of the other sleepers began to wake as Astlyr moved to the man and gently shook his shoulder. “Cullen,” she said, pitching her voice low and soothing, “You're alright. It's a dream.”

At first he did not seem to feel her touch, twisting his head away from her as though he saw her through closed lids, “I will not. No. I will never-” His eyes snapped open and focused quickly. His breathing was rapid and panicked and he turned to look at Astlyr and flinched away from her as though she had bitten him, his eyes suddenly wide and filled with fear.

“Cullen?” Astlyr asked, removing her hand from his arm. She knew someone in a dream addled panic might strike out, and she'd seen Cullen kill a man with only an arrowhead the day before. While she suspected she could overpower him, she didn't want to have to.

Cullen exhaled, blinking several times. The whites of his eyes became less pronounced as he sat up slowly, pulling in his knees and hugging them. It took him another moment to finally grasp where he was. He looked to Astlyr then, with such a sorry expression she felt her heart melt at once, “Maker, I didn't mean to... when I woke I thought you were...”

“A demon?” she asked, giving him a lopsided smile.

“I'm so sorry,” he looked like a kicked puppy and she wanted to scoop him up and hold him. It was not an urge she was used to experiencing.

“You alright, Curly?” Varric was up. Astlyr could see his weathered face lit with concern.

“Are you well, Commander?” Fen'Harel's worry joined the group.

“I'm fine,” Cullen waved them off. “I imagined you would all see this eventually, and after the stress of yesterday...” he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Some sand fell out onto his collar. “I get vivid dreams at times. Nothing more,” he shrugged. “I am deeply sorry that I disturbed everyone. They come and go. I had hoped to make it through this adventure without issue, but it seems I cannot.”

“Do not spare another thought for it,” Fen'Harel said, standing and stretching.

“Chuckles is right,” Varric smiled, turning to tidy away his bedroll, “you have all the scary dreams you want. We'll be right here to wake you up.”

Cullen looked at Astlyr again, shame still written on his features, though he did seem somewhat cheered by the words of the others, “I'm sorry for pulling away from you. I was...I was dreaming of a certain demon that tortured me particularly. She...she had horns similar to yours and when I woke-”

“Cullen,” Astlyr moved to his side and touched his face with a careful hand, “I know. I've had these horns my whole life, and I know how alarming they can be, how alarming I can be. If I took it personally every time someone-”

“But it's me,” Cullen shook his head, golden eyes searching Astlyr's face as though struggling to memorize it. “I should not be alarmed by them. Not any more. Not after all we've been through and what we are.”

She had to admit to herself that she did feel a slight pang of sadness. As she had said, she had born these horns all her life, and as many jokes as she made about them, and their frightening affect on people, there were still parts of her that resented the way she looked. Her father and mother had raised her proud, thick skinned, and confident. Their daughter would not be ashamed, ever, of her horns and her strength, yet, in that moment, she knew she had caused her lover distress simply by looking the way she did, and it stung.

She had never been good at keeping her emotions from her face, and Cullen must have seen the hint of it because he looked down, ashamed. Rather than letting him carry on with self loathing or worry Astlyr dipped her head and kissed him, forestalling any further words. This seemed to placate her worried lover as he smiled beneath her lips. She sat back, grinning as well. She couldn't tell if he was blushing now, or was merely sunburned from their trials the day before, but he still managed to look dashing, even covered in sand, messy haired and bedraggled.

Myfanwy stuck her head into the tent, surveying the group, “good, you're all awake. It's getting on towards dawn and if we're going to travel before it gets too hot I think we need to be moving.”

“Right,” Astlyr stood, though she had to keep her shoulders hunched so as not to aerate this tent with her horns as well. She opened the tent flap and stepped out into the dark morn. The sun was merely a suggestion of pinkish light on the horizon. The sand was still cold underfoot from the night and Astlyr let a shiver rush through her. She took in the haphazard, half toppled Venatori camp. Would it be worth her time to try to save any of their tents? Her practiced eye roved over the mound of cloth and metal that was the weapons tent, then to the smaller structure where the Venatori had been keeping their food.

As Astlyr looked on her men gathered before her. Not in anything approaching formation, but obviously waiting to receive orders. Even Cullen, who was more used to being on the giving end of such commands, stood ready. Astlyr obliged them. “Varric, Myfanwy, Gather all the food water we can carry. I'd rather not waste it. Focus on things that will be easy to store in saddle packs. Avoid the extravagant. These are 'vints after all so they are bound to have a more impressive store than we're used to.” She thought of the fuss Dorian might make over her assumption about Tevinter, but also how he would inevitably try to make a case for some of the more frivolous foods such as rich breads or cakes.

“Cole, Cullen, please investigate the weapons tent. Find anything of ours we missed last night, and anything we might like to add to our collection,” she didn't even try to suppress a smirk. At least the harrowing battle and capture had been worth their time in new gear and a refreshment of their supplies. “Fen'Harel, you and I will see to the bedding and personal supplies. Then, if we have time, we'll try to take down the big tent to bring along. It was nice having us all in one place last night, rather than spread apart in little tents.”

“It won't do much good in a sand storm,” Fen'Harel pointed out, already moving to walk with her. The others began their assigned duties with no complaint. Varric even seemed excited by the prospect of being in charge of the food.

“This is true,” Astlyr agreed with her friend, opening the tent flap for him. “We'll have to play it by ear. If a storm did come up we'd have to abandon the big tent. It'll be ripped apart.”

“It is also larger, more visible,” Fen pointed out as he began rolling up bedrolls, tying each tightly with a cord and stacking them like logs.

“The Venatori found us when we were hiding out in our little tents,” Astlyr said. “I think being visible is the least of our worries out here.”

“As you wish,” Fen gave her a half-smile as he set about gathering and stowing their friends' personal supplies back into bags and satchels. Astlyr's packing skills were excellent. She was always able to fold something smaller, to make oddly shaped objects fit into haversacks. Between herself and Fen'Harel the work went quickly. Soon their personal supplies sat in a neat pile outside the tent, waiting to be placed onto dracolisk backs.

The pair were quiet as they worked on the tent. It felt nice to toil side by side with someone without the pressing need for conversation, Astlyr thought. Fen seemed relaxed (at least for him) and easy in her presence. She half expected him to bring up some new anxiety over their upcoming mission. What if the foci wasn't where he'd left it? What if they couldn't find a host for Dirthamen? Instead Fen'Harel carried on with a calm expression. Perhaps his turning into a wolf two nights before had made him feel more secure about himself. Perhaps some of his memories had returned. Whatever it was, Astlyr was glad of their silent, steady teamwork.

Varric and Myfanwy reported back with their findings. Dried fruits of all varieties that made Astlyr's mouth water. Salted meats, less impressive than the fruit, but still a good variety. Varric had also selected a few bags of nuts. “They're nutritious,” he explained when she gave him a look. Astlyr knew that they were a particular favorite of his. Myfanwy hesitantly held out a small jar, no larger than a fist. “Honey,” she explained, looking sheepish. “I took the smallest one, and I can carry it on my saddle. I know you said no extravagance but-”

Astlyr's sharp laugh startled Myfanwy into silence, “I think that little jar is just the right size of extravagance,” she gave the elf a wink.

Myfanwy looked pleased and tucked the honey away into her pack, which was piled with the others on the already warming sand. The sun was making a bid for the sky with concerning speed. Astlyr knew they would not travel far that morn before they had to make camp again, but at least they could put this place behind them.

With her tasks finished and Cole and Cullen still working, Astlyr strolled casually over to the supply tent and peered through the ruined contents. Her eyes alighted on an unbroken bottle of wine. She hefted it, noting that the wax seal was still in place. She had no idea if it was a good vintage, but it was Tevinter, so she tucked it away. Dorian would appreciate a taste of his home land, even if it turned out to be a cheap one. She also selected a small bag of dried fruit and wandered back to the others, munching on her prize.

“It still smells of demons here,” Cole stated, walking up with Cullen to rejoin the group. Both were laden down with new weapons and Astlyr had to try not to laugh. Cole especially was bristling with daggers, knives, a new tripwire and three satchels of sleeping powder. Also dangling from his belt from a tough looking cord were a pair of bolas. The young spirit looked quite pleased with his findings.

“I've got some more bolts and arrows for the two of you,” Cullen said, passing quivers to Myfanwy and Varric.

The elf drew an arrow and sighted down the shaft, holding it to her nose. She raised her eyebrows, obviously impressed, “these are finer than I have ever used. So uniform,” she selected another, checking it the way she had the first. “They're so alike I can hardly tell them apart.”

“In Tevinter they have slaves to make arrows and ensure that they're all perfect,” Fen'Harel said, making little effort to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

Myfanwy slid the arrow back into the quiver, looking uncertain. Then she seemed to make up her mind, pulled the strap across her shoulders. “I will not diminish their skill by refusing to use their arrows.” she said.

Astlyr watched Fen'Harel's still features, but he showed no emotion in that moment. With weapons collected, food replenished, and water to spare, the group took to their mounts. Though Varric praised Myfanwy's riding skills to the sky, she was still unwilling to take Ague's reins. “I may have ridden these creatures in a time of crisis, but I did not enjoy a moment of it,” she said, eying the lizard with obvious distrust.

“Fair enough,” Varric chuckled, allowing Astlyr to boost him into the saddle before Myfanwy climbed up behind him. “You helped save our lives back there, so the least I can do is steer the drac for you.”

Astlyr approached Thorn, who bit at her and hissed. “Cole, can you make them docile again?” She asked, feeling lucky to have gotten her fingers clear of the deadly sharp teeth in time.

“I can, but then they won't move very fast,” the boy said, stretching up a hand and rubbing Ripper's scales. The drac actually leaned towards Cole, thrumming deep in her throat. “It makes them sleepy. Dull like old stones.”

“Alright,” Astlyr said, hurrying to mount before Thorn decided to try more violent tactics than merely biting. “We'll ride them as we normally do. Lead on, Fen.”

~~~~

Another dawn and dusk's travel saw the group standing before a large mound of sand. Astlyr was unimpressed. The studied the pale stones that jutted from it, and the tough scrub plants that clung to life around it.

“This place feels old,” Cole announced. “Secrets upon secrets pile and hide, hope, hinder.”

“This is where the foci is hidden?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. In the burgeoning light of dawn she could see nothing to set this particular pile of sand apart from any other, aside from Cole's assessment. She watched the spirit boy as he stood, hands clasped, in the posture she had come to know meant he was reaching out with his gift.

“The place is well hidden.” Fen'Harel assured the group. He took his staff from his back, sliding his feet apart into an elegant casting stance. Astlyr had to admit that while Dorian was very graceful, Fen had the capacity to be more so. It did not always manifest, and she had seen some sloppy, slap-dash casting from him to be certain, but now, as he wove the spell through the air like silk, she saw the other side of him and was, as ever, slightly awed. Her skin prickled with the thrum of old magic. The kind she had felt when Ghilan'nain had been restored, though it felt different as well.

The veil pushed in against her and her palm prickled. Cole moved closed to her. The old magic made him tense. The ancient spell that Fen now skillfully etched across the sand like strands of the spider spirit's great web was not as invasive as Ghilan'nain's had been. Instead it merely prodded, tickled, asserting itself without force.

Astlyr had imagined the sand would fall away, revealing a cave. Instead the opening in the mound appeared, as though an invisible curtain were pulled from it, not shifting the sand at all. There was not the ragged mouth of earth she had expected either. Rather the opening which had appeared was constructed with stone pillars as doorposts and well made stairs leading down a small distance inside. It did look very dark and old. The smell of depths long undisturbed wafted to Astlyr's nose.

“What is this?” Myfanwy asked, awed. She stepped closer, examining one of the slender columns forming the doorway into the earth. Astlyr could see that that pillar was covered with runes. They shone with Fade-light for a moment, before becoming dull again.

“The runes provide the concealment,” Fen'Harel explained, calling the residual magic around him back to his hands and staff. With a coiling motion of his arms the glowing green of his casting vanished as if he had waved it away like smoke. “This is Eth Dirth-an. A place of secret safety. This was one of Dirthamen's haunts where he would store away the knowledge he had gathered, and the treasures he found.”

“Treasure?” Varric raised his eyebrows.

“Treasure in the form of history, yes,” Fen'Harel said, eying the dwarf suspiciously. “Only some of the items would be valued now. Much will likely have fallen to the ravages of ages below the sands.”

“He's sleeping,” Cole said, drawing nearer to the entrance. “I can feel him inside. Slumbering, solitary.”

“You can sense Dirthamen, Cole?” Fen'Harel turned to the spirit boy, sounding excited. “This is excellent news! If you can sense him, then his foci must still be safe within.”

“How safe are we talking here?” Varric asked, taking Bianca from her special holster on his back. “I've been in a few treasure caves and they're always bristling with traps.”

“There will be wards,” Fen said, turning to gaze into the darkness of Eth Dirth-an. “I personally placed much of the security here, after I had hidden Dirthamen's foci within. I should be able to easily disarm them.”

“You remember this?” Astlyr asked, tensely. She didn't want to bring up her elvish friend's memory gaps, as she knew it pained him, but she also couldn't knowingly lead her men right into a deadly trap with no hope of disarming it.

“Yes,” Fen dipped his head.

“Alright. If you're certain,” Astlyr swung her beautiful shield from her back and drew her blade. No use walking into a cave, no matter how much her mage reassured her, without a weapon. If she knew one thing, it was that giant spiders found every crack and crevice in the earth, no matter how well hidden it was.

Carefully they stepped into the gloom. They had no need to light torches as Fen'Harel soon found several of the special sconces which could sustain veilfire. Even with this illumination Astlyr's superior low light vision was put to the test as the path slanted downwards, causing everyone to stumble periodically. The floor, once well made of fitted stones, was now buckling and chipped in places, causing more trip hazards for the group. Astlyr had to hunch low, as usual, to keep her horns from scraping against the ceiling.

Downward they wove. The path took several turns and Fen'Harel had to stop them frequently to check for, and eliminate the wards he had placed. Many had burned themselves out after long ages standing vigil. If Astlyr flexed the fingers of her left hand and prodded the veil she discovered it was quite thick, like a wool blanket pulled over her. Odd, for somewhere a god would frequent, she thought. Perhaps Dirthamen was not as fond of the Fade as Fen'Harel was.

The journey did not take long. Fifteen minutes at the most, but it felt protracted due to many stumbles and the frequent need to stop. The group finally came to what appeared to be a dead end. A square room into which they could all fit, if barely. Astlyr urged her company to stay back in the tunnel as Fen moved around the room, examining it. Each wall, the floor and ceiling where covered with runes and pictures. They seemed disjointed and abstract. Unlike the images on the walls of Skyhold's temple, these did not blend flawlessly into one another. It was obvious each rune and image stood alone, and meant something unique. Some were drawn at odd, slanting angles, and one picture of a woman appeared to be upside down.

“What does it all mean?” Astlyr questioned, watching the runes glitter upon contact with the Fade-light as Fen'Harel raised the torch to illuminate the room. “Are they dangerous?” She wondered if Cullen should take point in her place. He had more experience with magical threats.

“Some may be,” Fen answered, squinting. This was not the reassurance Astlyr was looking for and she shifted uneasily. “I placed some of them myself, but many were painted by Dirthamen himself. Secrets he has stored away, never meant for other eyes.”

“Should we even be here?” Varric asked, gesturing with a thumb to the group. “Most of us aren't elves.”

“We shall focus on the runes that will help us free him,” Fen'Harel reassured the group.

“Can you read them all?” Cullen leaned around Astlyr to get a better view. Poor Varric near the back of the group could only catch glimpses of the upper walls and ceiling.

“Many of them. Yes.” Fen raised his free hand, twisting it in the air, almost like an artist with a brush might flourish before a canvas. Then, with a precise motion of wrist and arm, several of the marks shone with bright, blueish light. “These are mine.”

“Are any of them clues?” Varric asked, folding his arms. “I don't see a foci. Where do we find it?”

“It is here,” Fen'Harel raised the light again, casting the eery green glow over everything once more. He moved about the little room, scrutinizing the markings. He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “If only I could recall...”

“You don't remember?” Varric's tone was exasperated this time. “I know I'm a dwarf and I'm supposed to love being underground, but let me be the first to admit that this place gives me the creeps. Nothing has even attacked us yet, I'm ready to call it a day.”

Astlyr realized that she agreed. The veil down here felt odd. Drawn tight and imposing over them. It made her breathing just the tiniest bit labored, and her mind feel sleepy. She wanted fresh air, even if it was desert air. She had assumed that inhaling the stale, magic laced oxygen of the tunnel was to blame, but perhaps it was something else.

“I can remember placing them,” Fen'Harel answered Varric's question, ignoring his comments about wanting to leave. “Though the recollection is fogged with time, as any would be for one who has lived as long as I. The answer which lies in these runes alludes me, though I was the one to place them.”

“Do you get any read on this place, Kid?” Varric turned to Cole, who was acting as rear guard, twin blades drawn in case something did decide to attack them after all, just to round out the day.

“It doesn't want us here. No one is supposed to be here but him. The one in the wall. This is his place and we're not supposed to see, but he wants us to save him, so he waits and watches, wondering. 'Why doesn't he remember?'”

“Dirthamen? He's trapped here?” Astyr asked, glancing over her shoulder into the gloom of the hall and making out Cole's pale face.

“The secret keeper, yes.” Cole replied.

Astlyr turned back to studying the glowing runes. “Well, hopefully that means we're not in danger, if he wants us to find him, but who knows,” She turned her attention back to Fen'Harel. “What do the runes you placed mean?” she peered at one which seemed to be a decorative swirl rather than anything approaching language or writing. She stepped a bit further into the room. It fairly buzzed with old magic and Astlyr wished that Fen could turn it down somehow.

“They mean various things. I believe we are intended to join all their meanings together to uncover the secret.” Fen'Harel mused, rubbing his chin.

“So a code word?” Varric queried, trying to move forward for a better view. He pushed past Cullen and gave the runes a once over before sighing and withdrawing to the corridor. “When I write this part in the book I'll have to make it more exciting. Maybe have us trying to solve an ancient elf puzzle while the walls move in towards us.”

“And the walls are covered in spikes,” Cole filled in with Varric's unspoken plot.

“Exactly, Kid.”

“Hush,” Astlyr warned, “You keep talking like that and the whole place will start to fill up with sand or something.”

“Nice,” Varric raised both eyebrows appreciatively. “Can I use that? Puppy, how are you at drawing people drowning in sand?”

Fen'Harel cleared his throat and everyone stopped to look at him. “I apologize,” he said, frowning, “but I believe I will need all of your assistance for this task.”

Astlyr and company obliged, settling in to help puzzling things out, some leaning against walls, others sitting cautiously on the floor. Astlyr herself plopped down, drawing her legs up in a comfotable half lotus. Cullen sat beside her, resting his arms on his knees. Cole and Varric remained in the hall in case Varric's prediction about being attacked was correct, but they listened as Fen'Harel explained what the runes meant. Myfanwy remained standing, taking out one of her papers and a bit of board, not unlike Josie's writing board, from her pack, she began sketching the runes and recording their meanings.

“The ancient elvhen language often used runes as a type of shorthand, to express words or phrases in a quick and concise manner,” Fen'Harel began.

“Not to mention they just look fancier,” Varric pointed out.

A quick smile flitted across Fen'Harel's face. “So they are. They were read with the topmost runes being the most important. I believe those make up the riddle we must solve, but to ascertain what sort of answer we seek, we look to these for direction,” he gestured to a smattering of elegant markings near the floor. “This rune means 'to know' or 'to recall', or sometimes 'to understand' This means 'to seek identity, or a name'.”

“So we need a name?” Astlyr questioned, leaning forward. “It can't be Dirthamen because we've already said that numerous times down here. Did he have any other names?”

“Perhaps once, but his been lost to the ages,” Fen'Harel's shoulders slumped.

Astlyr pressed on before he could become distracted. “Alright, what about that one? The last little one, in the corner?”

“Ah, this one puzzles me. It means 'the sister' or it can stand for one who is like your sister, though not in blood. A very close bond.”

“Please tell me Dirthamen had a sister, and you remember her name,” Varric implored testily.

“He has a brother. No sister to my knowledge. In obscure cases this rune can be used to indicate that two other runes are closely linked. Perhaps it is implying that the first two are to be read together.” Fen'Harel pulled his hair free of its leather strap, then gathered it again in an attempt to get the messy curls under control. Myfanwy stepped in and pulled it back for him, abandoning her paper for a moment.

“Know or recall an identity or name?” Astlyr puzzled aloud. “A name, but not Dirthamen's. Did he have any nicknames?”

“Perhaps it is an identity,” Cullen suggested, “less a name. He was the god of secrets, correct? What's the elven word for secrets?”

Fen spoke a word to the room. This had no effect. He clucked his tongue and tried, “Dirth!” When he received puzzled looks and explained, “I used both the ancient and modern words.”

“What about the other runes? The ones up there?” asked Cole, peering into the room and pointing towards the ceiling.

“That one is 'Friend' or 'Friendship'. Closer to ordinary friendship than the sister rune. A best friend,” Fen'Harel explained, extending a hand as if he might touch the rune, though it was too high for him to reach.

“Lethallan or Lethallin?” Myfanwy asked.

“Similar. Lethallren. We once had a word which encompassed both genders,” Fen said, watching the runes as he spoke, in case his words might trigger something.

Astlyr noticed the word, Lethallan, had been the one that a weary Fen'Harel had used for her in the Fade. Did he think of her as a best friend? She almost smiled at the thought, but managed to keep her face under control for once. She watched the slender form of the elf god move about the room, scrutinizing each rune. She trusted him in battle, certainly, and for the most part she trusted that he would not abandon them without a word, as he had before. However, she had learned to take his words with cautious optimism, but never instant belief. Once a liar, always a liar. She would forgive, but not forget.

“This one means 'mother'. This one- 'joined', or 'bound',” Fen'Harel continued to identify runes. “And this translates roughly as, 'my enemy's enemy.'”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Cullen quoted the old saying. “There's friend again. Is friend the word we are supposed to use?”

Fen'Harel once again tried the ancient elvish version, then the modern, to no effect. He sighed, then snarled in frustration. Cole crept further into the room. “Friend. Yes. She is a friend, and more,” he said, his eyes looking distant.

“What is it Cole?” Astlyr questioned, watching the boy. His posture, the way he held his hands. She knew him well enough to know when he was sensing someone's pain. The rounded set of his shoulders, and his hands clasped and wringing before him indicated that he was, indeed, reading something, or someone in the room.

“I'm your friend,” Cole looked directly at Fen'Harel, who stared back, blue eyes suddenly cold. “You forgot me?”

“I-” Fen began, but did not finish. Instead he drew back, seeming to fold in on himself. He looked at the others, finally settling his gaze on Astlyr's. “I believe Dirthamen and I were friends. I have...memories of us walking together, laughing. As I recall we were very close, though the memories are fragmented,” the god admitted.

“So friendship is the theme, which I think we already knew” Varric spoke up, eager to lighten the mood and hurry things along. “But the word 'friend' isn't what we want. We might be looking for a quality that friends have?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Kindness,” Cole volunteered. His hands had dropped loosely to his sides. He was no longer reading Dirthamen. He shot a tentative look towards Astlyr and gave her the briefest of smiles before his lips turned downwards again.

“Love?” Varric tried.

“Loyalty?” Astlyr took a turn.

Fen'Harel spoke each of these words to the walls. The first two caused no change, but when he spoke the last; 'loyalty' there was a distant sound, somewhere beyond the back wall of the room. A mechanical rumble and then a click. Astlyr and her people were on their feet in seconds, weapons in hand. Fen'Harel raised his arm, signaling them to draw back into the hall. Astlyr saw the familiar flash of blue around the mage, indicating he had thrown a barrier around himself as he remained in the room.

“Cole?” Astlyr asked instinctively.

“I don't sense anything new,” the boy said. “Just the old pain that was already here.”

The runes in the room had gone out liked snuffed candles. Astlyr was uncertain if Fen'Harel had done this, or if they had done so on their own. She watched the elf, her muscles tense, her shield blocking much of the doorway. She could swing it aside like a door if Fen needed to make a hasty escape past her. “Fen?”

“Wait,” the elf was looking at something in the far wall of the room, at approximately his eye level. “It cannot be so simple.”

“What?” Astlyr tilted her head, trying to see around her friend. He was looking at one of the many pictures on the wall. Astlyr could not tell for certain what it was, with Fen'Harel between her and it, but she thought she remembered looking at it before. There had been two figures, walking side by side. Had there been others as well? Twin, ghostlike forms with each of the figures. She couldn't remember if it was that picture, or another she was remembering. “Be careful,” she warned.

“It cannot be so simple.” Fen repeated.

“Simple?” Varric snorted. “How many wards did you have to take down to get us here?”

Fen'Harel reached for the painting and seemed to pluck something from the wall. He turned around, holding the object up for them to see. It was a silver key, no longer than Fen'Harel's forefinger. Unimpressive would have been the word that Astlyr used for it. “What do you suppose it opens?” she asked, looking around to see if a keyhole had appeared in one of the other paintings. Would there be more riddle solving to find the door the key would open?

“Nothing,” Fen'Harel said, stepping towards them. “This is the foci.”

Once he had reached them Fen held up the key again so everyone could get a closer look. Silver, but tarnished, the key still looked as ordinary as it had from across the room. Yet, when Astlyr plucked her glove from her left hand and held it experimentally towards the key she felt a sharp prickle on her palm. A tingle of excited magic. She withdrew her hand and slid her glove back on. “It certainly isn't an ordinary key,” she assured the group, who were all crowding around her to see.

Cole peered at it cautiously, “I had better not touch it,” he concluded. “It might bite me.”

“It might at that,” Fen'Harel gingerly tucked the key into a pouch on his belt. He shot one more glance over his shoulder at the little room. “There are likely hundreds of objects hidden within, in just such a fashion. Though I suspect they will be quite difficult to obtain. As I recall, Dirthamen spent much more time on his riddles and puzzles than I. Though, in my defense, I was rushed,” he gave a weak smile and the group turned to move back up the hallway.

Astlyr was a bit surprised that Varric did not protest, or urge them to seek more secret treasure, but then she recalled how thick the veil felt here, and how uncomfortable it was making them all. Perhaps Varric's dwarfish nature, immune as he was so much magic, made the pressing of the veil a particularly strange and unpleasant sensation for him in particular.

The group moved carefully back up the tunnel. The closer they drew to the surface the better everyone seemed to feel. Varric began to toss out more snarky comments and Cullen carried himself with an upright, soldierly stride once again. She suspected the feeling of the old magic all around had done nothing pleasant to his templar senses and instincts.

Finally the mouth of the cave was visible. Astlyr could see the bright and beating sun of full day. It had felt as though they had been in the cave much longer. As though it should be night already. Instead she had to blink tears from her eyes as the brightness and heat washed over her. At the cave mouth, as Astlyr braced herself to move out of the shade, Cole appeared in front of her, staying her with a hand to her breastplate. She raised her fist, signaling those behind her to halt.

“Fear,” the spirit boy said, his eyes intense below his upturned hat brim. “They don't know if they're right and they're afraid, but they're angry too, and their anger is stronger. Dogs without leashes, still scared of the master's lash”

“Cole, what-?” her words were cut short as a ball of fire magic erupted from over the top of a dune and struck the spirit boy squarely between his shoulder blades. Heated links of his chainmail flew as he was propelled into Astlyr. She caught him easily, and instinctively pulled him to her, enfolding him behind her shield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....aside from a nod to the grandfather of Fantasy, Tolkien (Speak 'Friend' and enter) this chapter is literally swimming in hints. Hints everywhere. See something you think fits your theory about where this tale is going? Don't hesitate to share! I will neither confirm non deny your correctness, but know that the foreshadowing and hints are all over the place ;)
> 
> In other news, poor Astlyr and her horns, scaring her man. I didn't want to write a character all emo about the way she looks, so Astlyr usually handles the stares and comments with sass and good grace, but it does sting when you scare the one you fancy. Don't worry. I think that kiss smoothed it over.
> 
> But oh no! Is there more peril ahead?! Probably. Remember Astlyr's luck thus far in the story and cringe.
> 
> Tune in next week. Same DA time, same DA channel!
> 
> Next: 6/25/15  
> Fellow bibliophiles can keep up with my shenanigans here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991?ref=bookmarks


	30. The Ritual of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter Astlyr and company solved a riddle and found a key.
> 
> So excited to share this chapter with you all! Be warned, I really should have titled this chapter: "Gore and Lore"... yeah. There are graphic depictions of gore in this chapter. Aaaaand I take another run at the lore. This should be intense!
> 
> Before you tuck in: here are some quick sketches of previous scenes, including dear Varric and Myfanwy, ultimate partners in crime!  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Partners-in-Crime-541118552  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/Always-a-Big-Sister-541116461

Part 30  
The Ritual of Secrets

“MAGE!” Astlyr shouted, louder than she needed to in the closeness of the cave. Another spell flew and struck her shield, deflecting handily off of the smooth surface. “Here, pass Cole back for healing,” she instructed Cullen who was standing directly behind her. She moved the spirit boy, still tucked behind her shield and managing to keep his feet without help, into the templar's waiting hands.

“It's alright,” Cole said, his voice soft, “I'm not badly injured.”

“Healer. Now.” Astlyr snapped, returning her focus to the dunes where the magic had originated. She squinted, all but her eyes and horns covered by her shield as she took up the entire doorway of the tunnel. If someone wanted to get at her people they'd have to blast their way through her. “Varric, get up here,” she ordered without turning her head.

There was a scrabbling sound behind her as the group rearranged. “What do you need?” Varric asked, pressing a hand to her elbow so she knew he had reached her.

“Lay down on your belly with Bianca and take aim between my legs.” she said, still eying the surrounding dunes with distrust.

“Alright, but won't Cullen get jealous?”

“I'm right here, dwarf,” the man said, testily. Varric's proclivity for wit in dangerous situations sometimes rubbed the templar the wrong way.

“How's Cole?” Astlyr questioned as she felt the crossbow bump her ankle.

“Mending,” Fen'Harel, who was in the rear of the group, called. “It was not a serious burn. His armor took the brunt.”

“Cole, could you tell how many there were?” asked Myfanwy, her voice anxious. It was obvious she hated feeling useless standing behind Cullen and Varric. There was no way she could aid in the fight.

“Not as many as last night,” the boy piped up. “Their thoughts all jumble. The fear and the hate get mixed like blood and mud. They want Astlyr dead, but they don't want to die themselves.”

“Which is why they're sniping from behind a sand dune,” Astlyr grumbled, wishing they would work up the nerve to take another shot now that Varric and Bianca were in position.

“I think I can find them,”Cole offered.

“No,” Astlyr replied, firmly.

“You're worried I'll get hurt,” the boy said, matter-of-fact.

“I worry any of you will get hurt, which is why we're waiting. I can out wait them.” she gritted her teeth.

“Patience isn't a common qunari trait,” Varric pointed out.

He was right, and she knew that in this she was no exception to the rule. She ached to charge the dune. To run up on them and slay them all like rats in a nest. Only the thought of Cole being struck by magic moments before stayed her. Her warrior's mind grappled with her tactical skill and tactics was winning. “You still with me, Varric?”

“Right here with you, Pointy,” the dwarf answered from below and behind her. She almost smiled at how absurd they must have looked. Her blocking the doorway with shield and armor, Bianca peeking out between her ankles.

Sweat beaded on Astlyr's skin and rolled down her back, soaking the light padding she wore beneath her armor. Where other warriors had to wear thick gambisons, she got away with only a thin padded layer under her plate; tougher qunari hide coming in handy once again. Astlyr's vision blurred. She blinked and sweat made her eyes sting. “Are they still there, Cole?” she asked.

“Yes,” the boy answered. “They're scared, but they're getting braver. I can feel their fear ebbing, just a little. A leak slowing to a drip.”

“Do you have a plan, Inquisitor?” Fen'Harel asked, his voice tense. She could feel the magic he had called to himself making the air sing with static.

“When they strike again we'll know where they are for certain, but I'd like them to get closer. To get cockier, if we can. Let them think they have us at a disadvantage.”

“Will you open a rift?” the mage questioned.

“I'd like to avoid it. I've fought enough demons already this week. I will if I have to. If we can't get them to come out, a nice Fade rift might send them scurrying.”

“Perhaps we should try communicating with them,” Cullen offered.

“I am not negotiating with Venatori,” Astlyr growled.

“Not that,” the man clarified. “I mean, goad them. Get them to show themselves.”

“He has a good point,” Varric said. “Remind them who you are, maybe? Remind them who you slew.”

Astlyr pondered this. Could she appear to be a weakened foe and also rankle them into attacking foolishly? She had little skill with words. “Alright. We'll try this. If it works, wait for my signal to attack. Varric, you'll take as many as you can in a first volley then get yourself clear and quick because we're going to rush out of here. Tigerclaw formation.”

There were grunts of understanding from behind Astlyr and she heard her people situate themselves. Cullen before Myfanwy with Fen'Harel in the rear. Cole was technically behind them all, but would not remain so for long. The boy would teleport to his position in the formation when the time was right. Astlyr cleared her throat. If there was one thing she could be, it was loud. “We know you're still out there,” she said, her resonant tones rippling over the dunes. Nearby the tethered dracolisks made loud thrums and chortles in answer. “You all remember me, I'm certain. I'm the one who killed your god. I have to say, he must not have been all that impressive if you lot were able to get me trapped like this. Do you sometimes stop and think how stupid you must have been for following that old windbag, Corypheus?”

“You're actually not too bad at this,” Varris whispered. “Throw in something about their mothers, if you can.”

“Shh,” she hissed, still eying the dunes with a practiced eye. “Cole, is it working?”

“They're angry,” the boy reported. They don't like what you said, but they're still afraid. Now they're thinking they'll split up. Try to catch us by surprise from either side.”

“Oh they do, do they?” She smirked. “Alright, new plan. As soon as Cole can sense the Venatori in position for their attack we're going to swing right and hit that element hard. Varric, Myfanwy, you'll cover our flank, but by the time the second element reaches us most of their buddies should be dead. We'll go with hammer formation for this one.” She raised her voice again, making a show of aiming her words at the dune behind which she guessed the foe no longer cowered. “You're afraid to face me? Really? You've got us trapped in this hole in the ground and you're still afraid? Is it truly because of what I did to Coryphius? How I used MY powers that I TOOK from him to rend him to pieces? Do you suppose he wants this anchor back? I've grown so attached to it.”

A sound caught her attentive ear and her head snapped to the right. She was ready for the spell when it flew, striking her shield with ice. She felt the cold fingers of the magic crystallize their way over the metal, then recede. She smiled. No need for Cole to tell her that the Venatori were in position.

She gave no verbal order, merely struck her sword against her shield with a resounding clang. Then she surged out of the hole towards the flank she had chosen. Hammer formation was a simple one. She was the hammer. Cullen kept pace as best he could, but Astlyr was the one to smash into the foe first. They were not expecting her, especially not with such ferocity and force. Ill aimed spells went awry and an arrow glanced off her shield as she tore into the small group. There were only five Venatori and Astlyr cut a swath through them as easily as a sharpened blade through cloth. Striking with shield and blade alike she shattered a skull here, slashed an arm from a body there. She brought the sharpened edge of her shield to bare and slashed one across the chest.

With Myfanwy and Varric covering the rear, Cullen and Cole found they had little to do as the qunari contended with the small cluster of foes. Cole teleported after one who tried to flee and slaughtered him with a three neat stabs from his twin blades. Fen'Harel settled for aiding in her massacre when he could. He tripped the enemy up but tugging the sand from beneath them like a rug. Once he even raised a pillar of sand to force an unlucky foe towards Astlyr's waiting blade.

It took mere moments finish the slaughter. The other element had rushed in to attempt to aid their dying comrades and was met with Astlyr's ready force instead. The Venatori were completely outmatched and cut down. The last tried to flee, only to be struck in his retreat by a crossbow bolt in the back. He staggered a few steps, hands grappling behind him as though he might remove the offending bolt, which had buried itself to the fletching in his flesh. This failed and toppled to the sand and lay still.

“Are there any others?” Astlyr asked Cole urgently, instinctively forming up with Cullen to shield the mage and rouges as best they could.

“No,” Cole replied after a moment. “No others are hiding.”

“Good.” Astlyr said, flicking her blade in the air and splattering the sand with blood. Her shield was dripping with red as well. She would have to give them a good cleaning as soon as this was over. “Make certain they're all dead.”

“Wait,” Fen'Harel stayed the group. “Leave one alive. I have an idea,” he held out his hand, the silver key of Dirthamen resting on his palm, glinting in the desert sun.

“The host must be willing,” Myfanwy reminded him.

“He will be,” the god spoke darkly, eyes hooded.

“Fen-” Astlyr hesitated, uncertain. He was right, of course. They needed a host for Dirthamen, and a dying man could be just that. Fen'Harel could heal the man as soon as he was imbued with the god. Yet the idea tasted foul in her mouth. To force another, through torture, to give himself up to an entity?

“These are Venatori,” Myfanwy reminded her. “They've tried to kill us twice in as many days, and almost succeeded once.”

Astlyr cut a glance towards Cole. She couldn't help it, it was instinct. “One will die no matter what,” the boy answered her thoughts as easily as if she had voiced her concerns aloud. “But this way one will die so another may live. Good can come from bad.”

“Alright,” Astlyr sighed. Count on a spirit to see it like that.

“Only one is still alive,” Cole announced. “Hot blood pooling in my hands. Cutting pain like shards in my chest. Every breath is a fresh wound and I die a thousand times with each gasp.” He read the dying man's pain, pointing him out.

It was one of the Venatori Myfanwy had downed. An arrow protruded from his chest. Cole's new bolas were wrapped around the man's legs. He twitched slightly, eyes open and staring, glazing over with coming death. It was clear he did not see any of them as he fought for each hard-won breath. Pink foam bubbled up from his mouth and his face had gone as pale as parchment. His fingers still plucked uselessly at the arrow shaft.

“He's almost gone,” said Cullen with concern, kneeling beside the man and checking his pulse. “Will the god be able to take him?”

Astlyr took a moment to marvel at Cullen. This whole situation must have run so painfully counter to his faith, yet he pressed on. Able to understand the truth of what was happening before his eyes and not falter, as another of the faithful might have. She supposed that dealing with self proclaimed Elder Gods and their dragons had hardened the man to such oddities.

Fen'Harel dropped to his knees at the dying man's other side, extending healing magic over him. “I can keep him alive, though it will be difficult. He is in a perfect state for Dirthamen to take him. His will is nonexistent. However, I will need to heal him fully and immediately once the god has claimed him. Dirthamen will not have the strength to mend his wounds himself. It will be highly difficult. Mortal wounds are challenging to heal in the best of situations, and I will be weary from sustaining his life.”

Varric strode over to the dracs, who stamped and huffed grouchily at him as he rummaged through a pack and returned to his friends with two lyrium potions. “I think you'll need these,” he said, setting them at Fen's hip. The mage ignored them for the moment, focusing as he began to cast in earnest.

“Myfanwy,” Fen spoke without looking up.

“Lord?”

“I will need your aid. There is a ritual that must be completed. It should be one of The People that leads it. I will instruct you. Astlyr, please take the foci for the moment.”

Astlyr reached down and gently lifted the key from where Fen'Harel had set it beside him in the sand. Her mark prickled with excited energy as she held it. “What is this ritual? Is it dangerous?”

“Hardly,” Fen'Harel said, still laying waves of sustaining magic over the dying man like blankets of mist. Cole knelt as well, though he did not use his gift on the Venatori, but rather watched Fen's down-turned face intently. “We shall need veil fire. A lamp would be best, but a torch will do.”

Varric stood willingly and returned to the entrance of the cave, which still gaped like a solemn mouth, not yet returned to its hidden state. He brought one of the veil fire torches they had been usuing and stabbed it into the sand before Fen'Harel and the dying Venatori. Fen raised a hand and lit the torch with a hasty motion before returning both hands to his work. “What else?” Varric asked.

“An offering and a song,” Fen'Harel said, glancing up at the torch to ensure it was still burning. “We have no alter, but I believe the ritual will still succeed without.”

Cole scooted back and dug his hands into the sand, making a small divot, like a bowl. “Here. Like in the temple.”

“Excellent, Cole. Thank you,” Fen flashed a quick smile. Then he reached for the first lyruim potion and downed it. The dying man made a sad, gurgling sound and Fen had to struggle to keep him alive with another rush of white magic.

“An offering and a song, eh?” Varric pondered. “What sort of offering?”

“Dirthamen always favored secrets.” Fen'Harel said.

“Secrets?” Cullen's brows came together. “So we do what, write a secret down and lay it in the 'alter'?”

“No. The foci goes in the basin. The secret must be spoken to it. Myfanwy, if you would...”

The elf took the key from Astlyr and gently settled the key into the sand. Astlyr watched this and thought for a long moment. What secrets had she? She assumed it would have to be something she had not told anyone in the group. Her friends all knew her well, what could she tell the key that would be new to them?

“I'll do it,” Varric spoke, low and tense.

Everyone looked to the dwarf, falling as silent as the sands that surrounded them. Astlyr knew that there were parts of his life that Varric guarded fiercely and did not share with anyone. Her friend's face was set, pained. “Varric, you don't have to. I'm certain that one of us-”

“No. It's time.” Varric sat down, folding his legs he rested his hands on his knees and stared at the key. Coils of Fen'Harel's white healing magic reached out and touched the foci on occasion, as if drawn to it.

Sensing the seriousness of Varric's intent everyone else settled themselves to sit as well, as though Varric was going to share one of his usual tales. Even Fen'Harel looked up, though he frequently had to return his focus to his patient. Once the group was quietly seated, Varric cleared his throat. “Mmmm. I...I once told you all that there was one story I would never tell.”

Astlyr felt her skin prickle. Her eyes darted to the crossbow resting in its special sheath on Varric's back. Her heart gave a little stutter. “Varric, please don't tell this if you don't want to,” she offered him another out, extended a line in case he changed his mind.

He shook his head, his eyes finding each of theirs, a fierce expression in their depths. “I won't bore you with the details of how I came by Bianca. We don't have the time, and a few mysteries have to remain mysteries for the sake of others. But I can tell you how she got her name.”

Astlyr wondered at this. She had assumed the bow was named for the dwarven woman they had met during the war. The one who had been studying red lyruim and broken Varric's heart, probably more than once. This did not seem to be the case. Well, Varric had once told her that 'Bianca' was a common dwarvish name.

“Alright, key, are you listening?” Varric gave the object one last glance and began. “You all know I have a brother, Bartrand. What no one knows is that I have a sister too. She isn't my blood sister. Just a child my mother adopted after she was banished, like my parents were before I was born. Little Bianca was a bit...odd. I'd have called her lyrium addled, if dwarves could be affected like that. She spoke in circles, when she spoke at all, but I loved her. She annoyed pretty much everyone else. Busy hands, always up to trouble. She'd habitually steal anything that wasn't nailed down. I spent a lot of my time returning things she'd taken. I got to know a lot of merchants that way,” his eyes twinkled. “I could keep Bianca still though. All I had to do was tell her a story.”

No one dared to speak, all eyes watching their friend. His head was held high, he still met each of their gazes in turn. There was sadness behind his eyes, but also determination. Cole moved closer to him, as if drawn by an unseen force, but the dwarf raised a hand to stall the boy before he could speak. “After a while Bianca started to have... fits is all they could really be called. She'd fall to the ground and shake, and I'd have to hold her or she would hurt herself. My family was starting to grow worried about her. My mother regretted rescuing her as the healers fees began to mount. I was getting myself deeper into the merchant business and had less time to take care of her. I think she missed me. It was hard to tell. I only saw her smile twice in the entire time I knew her. Anyhow, around that time I got my hands on this beauty,” he reached back and patted Bianca the bow fondly. “I brought it to show to Bianca one day when she was feeling sick after a bad fit. I set it beside her on the bed and I asked her what she thought it should be called. Like any true sister of mine she insisted that I name it after her,” Varric chuckled, remembering.

“She made you promise,” Cole couldn't seem to stop himself. He leaned forward, hands wringing together as Varric's pain washed over him as clearly as any magic.

“Yeah, Kid, she did. She made me promise to be good, and to protect people with my new crossbow.”

“People and kittens,” Cole corrected him.

“Yeah. And kittens. She had a thing for kittens, though they didn't have a thing for her. She wasn't always gentle about pulling tails and fur. Anyway, I promised.”

“Did she die, your sister?” Myfanwy asked, her face filled with concern.

Varric heaved a deep, cleansing sigh, “that's not part of the story. This was the story of how my crossbow got her name. Is that secret enough for you, key?” Varric looked down at the foci, raising an eyebrow. He seemed to be able to shrug off this memory, and its telling, as though it were no great burden at all.

Astlyr let out a steadying breath herself. She was once again awed by her friend. Would he regret sharing his story later? He must have known that this group would never retell the tale. Not even Cole. The boy could certainly sense Varric's feelings on that matter. The spirit already kept the continued secret of what became of the original Bianca.

The key made no indication that it has 'heard' Varric's story, but Fen'Harel spoke, “That was perfect. Thank you, Varric. Now, Myfanwy, you're turn has arrived. Are you familiar with In Uthenera?”

Myfanwy's brow creased as she thought, “I believe I am, yes. My father taught Daveth and I.”

“In Uthenera?” Cullen asked, clearly baffled, but also intrigued by the entire situation.

“It is a Dalish funeral song. A song to encourage a soul to pass on to the next life. It is intended for those who die of old age specifically,” she clarified.

“Do you know its true origin?” Fen'Harel asked, his eyes flicking up from his work. His finger trembled as he struggled to keep the healing magic at the correct level. Cole moved gingerly around the dying man and lifted the second lyrium potion to the mage's lips, helping him to drink.

“It has been passed down by the people for generations.” Myfanwy offered, watching her god with her intense, brown eyes.

Fen swallowed the last of the lyruim and explained; “What we know today as In Uthenera was once a song created by Dirthamen for his brother, the god of death. A song for his brother to call to the dead and dying. To ease them on their journey. Over time it changed, as songs and tales so often do. Falon'Din may have even amended it himself, when his people began to die of old age rather than in battle. Do you believe you could sing it now, Myfanwy?”

“I-” she hesitated, casting her gaze skyward as if the fading blue might offer an answer instead.

“I can help,” Cole said. “Your mind wants to remember, and your mouth knows the words, but they're concealed, captured, caught on a memory. I can tug it, tease it free. If you'll let me.”

He reached a pale hand towards the elf and she flinched away. The moment she did she looked ashamed, but she did not draw nearer to Cole. She chewed her lip, watching Cole warily.

“You don't need to be afraid,” Astlyr reassured in her steady, leaderly tone. Even she was impressed with how logical and calm she sounded. “He's helped me with his gift a few times and it has only been helpful. He can tug just a little. Get that memory free.”

In the end it was Fen who decided her. He made a small sound of exertion as he toiled over the wounded venatori. Sweat was steaming down his face, dripping from his hair and the end of his nose. A look of determination came over Myfanwy's face and she nodded, just once. Cole moved to her and touched her cheek with his fingertips. Myfanwy was obviously surprised by how cold they were because she jumped, but recovered herself quickly. It took Cole mere seconds to do what he intended and withdraw his hand.

Myfanwy stood silent for a long moment, then, quietly at first, began to sing. Her voice was surprisingly Beautiful and strong. Astlyr smiled to herself. About time they got someone around the place who could sing. The words seemed to tumble unbidden from Myfanwy's lips, riding a lilting, sad melody that filled Astlyr with an odd sensation of longing and a sharp memory of her parents' faces.

“Hahren na melana sahlin,  
emma ir abelas.  
Souver'inan isala hamin,  
vhenan him dor'felas,  
in uthenera na revas.

Vir sulahn'nehn.  
Vir dirthera.  
Vir samahl la numin.  
Vir lath sa'vunin.”

When Myfanwy's melodic song had ended everyone looked expectantly at the key. Astlyr wondered if it needed something more. Didn't these rituals usually require blood, or a sacrifice of some kind? Would the dead Venatori scattered about the area do in that regard? Then something rose from the key. Black smoke, suddenly gushing with surprising volume from the tiny object. Everyone, save Fen'Harel, drew back. Astlyr had to fight down the instinct to grab the elf and pull him clear as the smoke billowed. It roiled as though tossed by the wind, even though they were mostly sheltered from it by the mound of sand in which the cave mouth nested.

Then the smoke slowly took on a vague shape. Human, well, elvish, Astlyr assumed. There was a definite head and torso. Ragged arms kept forming and blowing away, or rejoining the smoke body. “Maker's breath,” Cullen exhaled.

“I wouldn't advise anyone breath that stuff. Even the Maker,” Varric snarked, backing away further and eying the smoke person with clear distrust.

“Is that...?” Astlyr squinted at the smoke man, who seemed to be looking about himself as best he could with no discernable eyes.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel answered tightly. There was obvious strain in his voice and his shoulders were rigid as he continued to use his magic to keep the fallen Venatori alive. He panted in a few quick breaths, “he needs me to guide him.” Carefully Fen lifted one hand from the wounded man and extended it to Dirthamen. The smoke god seemed to see this and extended a limb, which was more tendril than arm, to meet Fen's fingertips. Once the smoke had engulfed his hand, Fen guided it down to rest on the Venatori's chest. The smoke followed, losing shape once again as the cloud flowed down like water into the man's chest.

The foci stirred, twitching as though it had a life of its own. Green light lanced from it, following the smoke like tiny arcs of lightning. Astlyr was alarmed, but Fen did not flinch, so she guessed this must be intended.

The Venatori gasped and Fen'Harel redoubled his healing efforts. “Someone take out the arrow. Now please!”

Astlyr was the first to move, the others still taken aback by the scene. She knelt and grasped the arrow shaft lodged in the man's heart. She was careful to pull it cleanly, straight out the way it had come. As it was, the arrow's tip was not meant to be easily dislodged. It would tear its way from the man's body no matter what she did. She could only hope Fen'Harel had enough power to restore the damage. He had no choice but to keep the man alive now, she guessed. If he died the mage would be unable to bring him back and who knew what that would mean for the god now inside the body.

Astlyr thew the arrow aside and watched as the last of the smoke vanished into the man, passing through his skin as though it were not even there. The green lighting from the foci thrummed into the man a bit longer before finally going still. She glanced sideways at Fen. His face was tight with concentration and exertion as he worked, forcing magic into the wound, binding internal organs back together. His breathing was labored and sweat streamed from him, staining his tunic. Astlyr felt tense, wishing she could help, but uncertain how she would. She considered the anchor, but she had no idea what the sudden application of another magical...whatever it was, would do. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She knew it was Cole's without looking. He was keeping her steady and reining her in before she tried something stupid. She flexed her left hand absentmindedly, the mark dormant for the moment. She could feel the veil at the ends of her fingers, waiting for her to stir the still surface. Not yet, she told it.

The dying man made another choked sound, though this one sounded closer to a healthy breath than he had achieved in some time. Then another, and another, until he was dragging in ragged, but effective gulps of air. His eyes were wide and gazing, looking everywhere like a frightened animal. His lips were bluish, but color was returning. The wound on his chest now looked superficial.

Fen'Harel withdrew his hands, white magic sliding away from the man in the sand. Cole moved in a flash, catching Fen as he toppled to the side. “My Lord!” Myfanwy rushed over, kneeling as Cole arranged the obviously unconscious Fen'Harel into a more comfortable position. “He's alright,” the boy assured her. “He needs water and lyrium.”

Cullen fetched these from the saddles. He knelt, gently pouring each in turn into Fen's mouth. Most of it ended up on the elf's tunic front, which was already drenched with sweat, but some did find its way past his lips. He coughed, opening his eyes fractionally he sought Astlyr's, asking her a silent question.

“He's alive. I think it worked,” Astlyr said, turning her attention back to the god in a man's body. She winced as she looked the man over. She found herself wishing they could have chosen him a better host. Not only was he a human, but he was also highly unimpressive. He was of seemingly average height, with a stocky build and rounded features. His skin was caramel colored, like Dorian's, though he was not blessed with Dorian's handsome jaw, or proud brow. The man's face was marked with pock scars, as well as the scar of an old wound that pulled the corner of an eye downward slightly, giving him the look of one constantly depressed. He fit right in with Cole, she thought as she leaned the prone figure.

Dirthamen was breathing more easily, though his chest still oozed blood. Astlyr reached into a small pouch at her hip, finding what she sought instinctively. A bit of bandaging. “It's alright,” she said to the man, leaning down again, hoping, as she shaded him with her body, that her appearance wasn't too alarming. His eyes didn't seem to be focusing on anything yet. Gently she pressed the bit of bandage to the wound on his chest, feeling his heart beating below her hands. His eyes found hers for the first time. At least those were alright, she thought. A deep, creamy brown the color of good chocolate.

A pain sliced up Astlyr's left arm. She had used both hands to hold the bandage in place and her anchor mark had reacted. She inhaled sharply, trying to withdraw, but she couldn't. Already she could feel her energy being drawn away by Dirthamen. “Fen!” she gasped, uncertain.

Fen'Harel, still leaning against Cole and allowed himself to be fussed over by Myfanwy and the others, looked up, alarm on his features. “The foci!” he attempted to stand and didn't get far before toppling back into Cole's arms.

Varric acted, rushing to the man's other side and scooping the key from the little sand bowl Cole had made. “What do I do with it?” the dwarf asked urgently.

“Place it on his chest,” Fen'Harel said.

Varric did this. For a moment nothing happened. The god continued to draw power from Astlyr through her hand. He pulled greedily, his eyes fixed on her. Already her arms and legs were tingling with fatigue. Then Dirthamen seemed to realize what was happening, or at least to notice his own foci resting against his chest. He gave Astlyr one final, searching look with his liquid-brown eyes, then let her go.

She fell back into the sand, rubbing her hand. “Fuck,” she muttered. “What is it with you gods and taking my power without asking?”

“It is my fault,” Fen'Harel said, sitting up a bit, still taking long swigs of the water he had been offered. “I should have given him the foci immediately. I foolishly used all my energy in healing him when I might have spared some. I overestimated my abilities.”

“This world is finite. Only so much power, only so much life. I cannot give more than what this body can hold.” Cole mumbled, more to himself than anyone.

Astlyr rocked back, resting her hands against the sand. The sun was making serious inroads towards the rolling horizon. The air would be getting cold and quickly. She glanced down at the god-man-whatever he was, still laying in the sand, his eyes now fixed on a point somewhere beyond her left ear. “Cullen, Varric, Myfanwy, we need shelter. Can we get the big tent up? I'd like us to be together tonight.”

“Right,” Cullen stood from where he had been kneeling beside Fen. He brushed sand from himself to little avail, and crossed to the dracs to pull the tent form where it was bundled. The tent poles had been hung on either side of Thorn's saddle, like long spears sticking out before and behind the creature. The drac little seemed to notice, except to 'accidentally' prod her fellows with the hefty poles.

Astlyr moved to aid in the tent building, but her legs weren't cooperating. “The god took your energy,” said Cole, who was still kneeling with Fen. “Sit for a little longer,” the boy urged.

Astlyr watched grouchily as her people set up the big tent some distance from the gory scene of battle. It did not take Astlyr's limbs long to recover themselves, but by the time they had, she was of no more use with tent construction. She stood carefully, testing her long legs. They still felt sore, as though she had been running, and her arms were a bit heavy, but all told it was not as bad as when Fen'Harel had stolen her energy. A good meal would have her back to normal. The man in the sand, whom she had been attempting to shade with her considerable shadow, was still partially catatonic. His eyes unfocused and unseeing, staring at the darkening sky as though it held some great secret.

Fen'Harel recovered himself slightly as well, though he still seemed less steady than Astlyr, and he consumed an entire skin of water. Lucky thing they had raided the Venatori's stores, she thought as she watched the elf drink greedily. If they had still been rationing the water they had come with, Fen would not be allowed to refresh himself so thoroughly.

“The tent is ready,” Cullen said, striding over. “Feeling better?” he asked Astlyr, giving her an encouraging smile.

“Much better,” Astlyr bounced on the balls of her feet to demonstrate. She moved to the prone form on the sand, bending to pick him up.

“No, I've got him,” Cullen gently gripped her arm to stay her. Then, before she could protest, he hoisted the god onto his shoulders and carried him easily towards the tent.

Astlyr sighed and turned to Fen'Harel, “can I at least help you?” she asked.

“Cole and I can manage,” Fen said, standing with the spirit boy's aid and leaning against him.

“You can take his other arm,” Cole encouraged.

“You don't need me to,” Astlyr pointed out.

“I don't need you to help,” Cole nodded, “but you need to help.”

Astlyr bit back a smiled as she took Fen'Harel's other arm with a gentle but firm grip. He was even good enough to lean some of his weight against her. Astlyr didn't hate much in life, but feeling useless was something she could not abide. Even if her help was merely a token gesture, it was better than being the strongest person around and not being allowed to use that strength to assist her friends.

“One day, you're going to be strong. The biggest and toughest of those around you. Never waste that, Astlyr.” Cole was doing a fair imitation of her father's voice, though it slipped a little as the boy's voice cracked marginally. It was difficult for a human to mimic a voice that had been so deep.

“It seems your father was wise,” Fen'Harel said, quietly, obviously surmising who Cole quoted.

“He was,” Astlyr agreed as they achieved the tent and went about settling in.

Cullen had laid the limp form of Dirthamen on his own bedroll. He knelt beside the deity looking perplexed. “is there anything we can do for him?”

“Give him time,” Fen'Harel instructed as he was lowered to sit by Astlyr and Cole.

The friends were quiet that evening. Dirthamen laying in their midst felt like a spy. They kept cutting uneasy glances in his direction, even as he lay motionless save for his breathing. His foci had been placed back on his chest. Myfanwy had found a leather cord and made a necklace of it so that once he came around he could keep it with him easily. His eyes remained open, but staring at the wind rippled ceiling of the tent.

Everyone ate in silence, then moved to take their watch. Varric wrapped a warm cloak about himself, picked out some extra kindling out to light a fire, and took first watch with Cole. Once again Astlyr found herself in Cullen's arms for sleep. It was a strange and not unwelcome feeling, to have another wrapped around her, even if the size difference did make it a slightly awkward affair. Carefully she turned around so she was nose to nose with her man. He blinked hazel eyes at her, sleepily. The light in the tent was once again provided by veil fire, though this time the torch had been stuck into the sand so that Fen'Harel did not have to maintain the flame.

In the dimness the shadows of Cullen's features were more striking. The strong lines of his cheekbones and brow. The set of his jaw, adorned with a substantial stubble. Aboard The Griffin he had managed to shave, but in their desert travels he did so with less frequency. He never allowed a full beard to grow. She imagined that would be quite warm in this climate. She preferred him clean shaven anyway. Blackwall's beard seemed a hassle, and food was always getting caught in it.

“What is it?” Cullen asked, brows coming together to form a familiar crease between them. She wanted to trace it with her finger.

“I was just wondering how you feel about all this elvhen god business. Does it conflict with your beliefs? Does it try your faith?”

“You tried my faith more than this business,” Cullen said, a little smirk flicking across his scarred lips.

“I did?”

“A qunari mercenary the Herald of Andraste? That put me on shaky ground there for a bit.” the man admitted.

“You recovered I assume. I see you praying sometimes. When you think no one is watching.” she hooked one of his legs with hers, entwining them.

“Yes,” Cullen looked slightly embarrassed, but didn't deny it. “I still pray often. But not because I'm in crisis. I like to keep up my relationship with the Maker. He's gotten me this far. He deserves my trust,” his brows furrowed again, “I'm sorry. I know you don't believe in the Maker. I try not to go on about him too much.”

“It's alright,” she smiled, “I like that you have faith. Faith is like loyalty, and I value that above almost anything. I can't begrudge you your faith merely because I don't share it. I have seen no proof of your Maker, but I can't go around telling you and the other faithful that you haven't seen proof. That you're wrong because my experiences don't validate yours.”

“Yet another reason I love you,” he said, moving to nuzzle her neck with his lips.

“Love me?” she pushed back slightly, a sudden feeling of alarm gripping her.

“I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean...well I did mean, but not if you...Maker,” Cullen looked suddenly terrified.

Astlyr struggled to rein in her thoughts. So loud she knew Cole must be privy to every one. This made her all the more uneasy. “Cullen I-”

“I didn't say it so you'd say it back,” Cullen reassured her hastily.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and she meant it. Her heart was pounding fast. Loved her? He loved her? The word was like an arrow. So much meaning it was heavy against her. What was expected? What was desired? Did she love him back in the same way?

“Astlyr,” Cullen looked sad, but firm, “this happens. Sometimes one person is ready to say it before the other is. It's alright. We can go at whatever speed you like.”

“Using my words against me,” she muttered, recalling what she had said to him when they had sex for the first time.

“Always,” he smirked, though it was shaky. Obviously trying to make her feel secure again.

Astlyr opened her mouth to say something else. She had no idea what, it merely felt as though words should be said, but another voice cut her off. Dirthamen began speaking. Loudly and quickly in what must have been ancient elvish. It startled the others awake. They all sat up and stared around at the man, still laying on Cullen's bedroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. Lots happening. Let's take it one thing at a time.
> 
> I have long wanted to have a go at telling the story of how Bianca got her name. Now some of you may be crowing that Varric would never tell it, etc etc, BUT (spoilers) he'll reveal in a later chapter that he left out a lot. So yeah. We still have a mystery. No need to murder the poor author *Hides anyway*
> 
> *From hiding place*  
> Yes, you do remember the "Song of the Dead". A certain Dalish bloodmage "sang" it in a certain game ;) Except she got away with chanting it, and no way was I gonna let Myfanwy go so easily. Singing or nothing, girl. You belt it out! (Plus more Cole being helpful with his gift)
> 
> Astlyr is being used as a battery again. Some gods are so rude.
> 
> Ok, let's get to those final lines. Aaaangst. Well, not too much, really. Astlyr and I are the same when it comes to that infamous L word. We don't take it lightly and we're never ones to say it unless we're certain. Poor Cullen. I think he'll recover though. He's an understanding dude.
> 
> Well, see you all next time! I hope you're as excited as I am!
> 
> Next: 7/2/15


	31. Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter Astlyr awakened a god. Now it's time to face the music, and the deity. Plus naked Myfanwy. You heard me.

Part 31  
Dragon

“What's he saying?” Astlyr scooted closer to Dirthamen, whose lips were moving rapidly as he spoke words she could not understand.

“Nonsense,” Fen'Harel replied, moving so his face was in Dirthamen's line of sight. He gently gripped the man's shoulders, speaking in ancient elvish as well, though in a soothing tone.

Varric stuck his head in through the tent flap, “is he awake?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Myfanwy answered him, hanging back from the group which had gathered around Dirthamen.

Cole teleported into the tent, though he did not rush to the god's side. “What are you getting from him?” Astlyr queried her Spirit Companion.

“It's muddled. Old. Cobwebs in need of dusting. The rust is falling away so the wheels can turn. Memories dance in memories and tangle. The bear wakes up and shakes her head. Looking at the sun...no, not the sun, not the moon. Where am I?”

Dirthamen blinked, his eyes finally moving from their locked position of gazing unseeing at the tent ceiling. He turned his head, looking around at the group with confusion evident on his borrowed features. It was strange to see the human man who had attacked them only hours before now looking on with baffled, deep brown eyes. It struck Astlyr that those must have been Dirthamen's eyes, just as Daveth's own brown were replaced with Fen'Harel's blue. Astlyr cleared her throat, “Hello. My name is Astlyr Adaar and you are safe. No one is going to harm you. We're here with Fen'Harel,” she gestured to the man in question and was gratified when Dirthamen's eyes followed her motion. She had no idea if he could understand her, but she hoped the soothing tone in her voice would be enough to indicate friendship.

He spoke again, much more quietly. There was a little slur to his speech, evident even in the foreign tongue. He blinked a few more times, then raised a hand to delicately touch the wound on his chest. Astlyr's bandage was still there. She hadn't dared to try to remove it. Then the man's hands curled around the foci with a desperation that made his knuckles go white. Fen'Harel addressed him again in the same gentle tones, once again in the ancient elvhen tongue.

“I can see now, but everything hurts. Why does it hurt? I don't understand. Eyes I know in a face that isn't his own. Dragons and spirits watch me,” Cole continued to read the newcomer, wringing his pale hands.

“Dragons?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. Then she realized, “wait, does he mean me?”

“Dragon's daughter,” Fen'Harel agreed. “We saw little of the qunari in our time, but Dirthamen has a special connection to the Fade and the spirits within that even I do not possess.”

“He can hear them. Always hear them,” Cole filled in. “They tell him the world's secrets. Always aware, always awake, so he sees without seeing.”

“That sounds...alarming,” Cullen said, sitting back. “Can he read our thoughts, like Cole?”

“I only hear the hurt,” the spirit corrected.

“He cannot,” Fen'Harel assured the group. “But he can see your history, or at least what parts the Fade will share with him. He has been absent for so long that I am certain he is being inundated with truths which have been waiting for him for Ages.”

“That must be overwhelming,” Cullen's voice held a hint of sympathy now, but he was not without caution. “When he's done gathering all this information, what could he do with it? Will he know the truth of everything that's happened while he's been asleep? He could be profoundly useful. We could know what truly caused the Blights. What happened during the Exalted March! All of it!”

“It is not so simple,” Fen'Harel sighed. “What he hears will be clouded by the Fade. The spirits there are reflections of this world, and they reflect the inaccuracies, the beliefs, and the lies as well. He may know the truth, or he may find only a version long tainted by hatred and pain.”

No one seemed to know how to react to that. They all looked at one another, uncertain. “This is why Dirthamen preferred to travel and speak with The People. To gain their stories himself,” Fen'Harel went on, his voice quieter as he watched his fellow god. Dirthamen had settled somewhat, though he still looked from face to face, clearly unable to understand how he had found himself amongst such company. “He was a true friend to me and many others.” Fen said, a fond tone in his words. “One day, Astlyr, I encourage you to dream with Dirthamen. To dream with him is to experience the Fade anew. To see the secrets of the world in a fresh light.”

“Let's not go doing that right away,” Cullen cautioned, shooting Fen'Harel a warning glance.

“Agreed,” the wolf god said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Now is hardly the time nor place.”

Astlyr had partially stopped listening to her friends. Instead she found herself transfixed by Dirthamen's eyes. Dark drops of chocolate in milk. He'd settled his gaze on her at last, and seemed to be regarding her with a deep, searching admiration. Not dissimilar, she realized, to the looks Cullen sometimes shot her way. She swallowed, but found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his, as though they held a secret she desperately needed to know. Even Cole was silent. Perhaps the god had put up barriers in his mind, as Fen'Harel could, against the spirit's intrusion. “Gr...Gah...” Dirthamen spoke again, a look of concentration coming over his new, pock-scarred features. He paused, formed his lips a few times as though practicing, then, fixing his gaze on Astlyr again, made another attempt. “Greetings.”

Astlyr sat back slightly, surprised, “he speaks common?”

“His host did,” Fen'Harel explained.

Dirthamen focused again, his lips twitching as he formed the words silently at first. “I...am...free?”

“You are,” Astlyr said, giving him a reassuring smile.

“How...long?”

Fen'Harel grimaced, “Ages, my friend. I am truly sorry I could not reach you sooner. It was my fault and my folly.”

“Ages?” Dirthamen seemed to roll this around in his mind. “Humans...are here. The world is one...of men.” This wasn't a question, but a statement of fact, however stumbling. “The old ways are...forgotten. No. Misunderstood.”

“Often for the better, I have found,” Fen smiled wryly. “You know our old ways as well as I do, friend. Perhaps it was time for a change.”

“Change,” he seemed to be trying the word. Tasting it. “And this one,” he looked at Astlyr, eyes going wider with that same expression of wonder and admiration. “She is...what is she?”

“Qunari,” Astlyr said, giving him another reassuring smile.

“Is that what they call dragons now?” Dirthamen stirred, trying to sit up.

“Go slowly, friend,” Fen'Harel urged, aiding his fellow god to a sitting position. Dirthamen winced, hand straying to his chest to touch the stained bandage.

“The qunari have horns, but they're pretty far removed from dragons. Especially this one.” Varric said, still watching from the doorway. A whole army of Venatori could have crept up on the camp and none of them would have noticed until they were being stabbed.

“Iron Bull, another qunari I know, once said that dragon blood might have been bred into the qun. Apparently they like to experiment. Who knows.” Astlyr shrugged, one hand straying absently to her horns.

Dirthamen seemed about to say something more on the subject when he tore his eyes from Astlyr's and looked down at himself. He made an abrupt, snorting laugh that surprised Astlyr. “Human? Hah! Fitting I suppose,”

To her surprise the man was smiling as though he thought the situation rather humorous indeed. Astlyr didn't like to think how Fen'Harel would have reacted had he been forced into the body of a human. Dirthamen raised his arms slowly to look at them. Flexing his fingers, then his feet. “I'm sorry about the body,” Astlyr felt compelled to say. “It was rather short notice.”

Dirthamen laughed again, then, seemingly on a whim, flicked the wrist of one of his hands in a motion Astlyr vaguely recognized as casting. No magic sparked from his fingertips. “Hmmm. Not a mage. Ah well, beggars cannot be choosers,” he lowered his hands.

Secretly Astlyr was glad that the body they had found for Dirthamen was no mage. She didn't relish the idea of another magically inclined elvhen god roaming around Skyhold. It was bothersome enough not knowing what kind of power Ghilan'nain possessed without adding to it.

“Do you have any idea who he used to be?” Varric asked, gesturing to Dirthamen's new host.

The man seemed to consider for a moment, an introspective expression on his homely features. “A swordsman. Not a very good one. Not well liked either. His memories are of jibes and cruel jokes from his fellows,” he paused, thick brows coming together. “Though he could be cruel, especially to animals. He'd kick at anything he felt was lesser than himself.”

“So all in all we did him, and the world, a favor,” Varric concluded.

“If you like,” Dirthamen said, still obviously puzzling over what thoughts from his host he could scrape together. “He had a family. Parents, two sisters. They'll never seen him again.”

Everyone fell into a somber quiet for a moment as they let this sink in. Of course everyone they were forced to kill had families. Some had wives, children. Some had whole clans depending on them to bring home bread. Yet when they faced the qunari Inquisitor in animosity, they inevitably came to cruel and grizzly ends. She wished the world could be another way, in the same moment knowing it could not. She peered at Dirthamen again. He looked troubled and pale. “Are you alright?” she questioned gently.

“This body isn't in the best shape, is it?” he said, attempting a smile and managing a grimace.

“And it lost a lot of blood,” Astlyr pointed out as she and her friends unconsciously moved towards the newcomer, concern written on their faces. Myfanwy acted first, bringing Dirthamen as skin full of water.

“One of the people?” the god said, dark eyes widening as he took in Myfanwy, accepted the offered drink. “I did not notice you before, young one.” he looked genuinely pleased to see her. Ghilan'nain had appeared confused, even concerned about the elvish woman, but Dirthamen smiled widely at her. The face he now wore may have been scarred and unattractive, but his smile elevated it. Astlyr wondered if elements of the grin had come from the god rather than the man.

“My name is Myfanwy.”

“It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Myfanwy,” Dirthamen said. Clearly he was getting a handle on the common tongue. Astlyr knew that his voice, if he was like Fen'Harel, was the original voice of the god himself. It bore the same lilting accent as Fen's, though his speech seemed less stilted, leaning towards the modern. A side effect of his host, she guessed. “To whom do you belong, Myfanwy?”

Astlyr flinched and Myfany bristled visibly. It was Fen'Harel who stepped in, and he did not sound pleased, “She belongs to herself. She is the slave of no god. The elves of this new world are, and must remain, free.”

Dirthamen looked puzzled, but understanding slowly came over his features, “So you got your desire at last, my friend? I'm glad. Forcing The People to do our bidding was never a great love of mine either. It is good that they are free of our rule.”

Astlyr bit back a comment she could sense was hovering on the tip of Myfanwy's tongue as well. That the Dalish, and some of the city elves, still clung to the old ways and the desperate hope that their ancient masters would return. They did not understand what the gods had been.

Dirthamen looked around at the group again, taking a careful sip of the water. “And one of you is Varric?”

“That would be me,” the dwarf said, sticking his arm in through the tent flap to wave.

“Thank you for your secret, Child of the Stone.”

“My secret? You heard that?”

“The spirits told me of your kind gesture when I wakened,” Dirthamen explained. “I understand why you omitted the parts that you did.”

Omitted parts? Astlyr was not surprised to hear that the dwarf had kept more back than the eventual fate of his adopted sister, but she wondered what else he had chosen not to tell them. He met her gaze briefly and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

Myfanwy was kneeling, changing the bandage on the man's chest. Fen'Harel infused the bandage with healing magics, though it was clear he had little energy for more. 

“Forgive me-” Fen'Harel said, “my friend. I should have introduced our company sooner.” Proper introductions were made. Dirthamen was gracious and pleasant to each of them in turn. When this was finished he looked deeply weary.

“I think we had best get some sleep,” Astlyr urged the group. Her own bones were crying out for rest. She was not fully recovered from the battle with the Venatori the day before, and she knew her people fared the same as she. She watched the newest member of their motley band. Of the gods she had met he seemed the most pleasant by far. Of course, there was a good chance it was all an act. A way to lull her into a feeling of security before the manipulation began.

She heaved a sigh as she lay back down, relishing the feeling of Cullen's arms going around her again. His gentle breath against her neck. In the morning they would strike out for Carr's Way and make their journey back home. Back to Skyhold, cold snows and icy winds. As her mind fell into slumber she idly wondered what the people of Skyhold were up to. How the repairs on the tower were coming, and if they had run out of apples in the kitchens. And then she was asleep.

She had half expected to be visited by a bear as well as a wolf in her Fade dreams, but her sleep remained undisturbed. She was only wakened for her turn at watch, and it was uneventful. At dawn, with the sand still cool beneath their feet, the company took down their tent and saddled the dracs. Dirthamen rode with Fen'Harel, as his drac was unburdened and large enough to handle the weight of both.

~~~~~

The next days in the desert were unpleasant, but untroubled. No more Venatori were so much as spotted on the horizon. Even the wild animals seemed to keep their distance, though perhaps it was merely the increased vigilance of the dracolisks, which seemed even more high strung after the deadly events.

Dirthamen fit in with the group amazingly well. He put everyone at ease at once, taking their questions in stride and answering as best he could. He had many questions for them as well. He was astounded and intrigued by the world in which he had found himself, and especially the people in it. He did not even balk when Myfanwy got up the nerve to ask him, “did you force your followers into battle?”

Dirthamen dipped his head to her in acknowledgment, “I am sorry to say that I did. I avoided it when I could, but I had many followers and they were willing, even foolishly eager to fight. I found no pleasure in it, as some did, but I was not as courageous as Fen'Harel, who refused outright to participate in the conflicts.”

“Instead I retreated from the world,” Fen muttered, “which was hardly preferable.”

“When I came to understand that my time was at an end,” Dirthamen went on, forestalling any further wallowing from Fen, “I gathered my remaining people and told them they were free. They had no need to remain loyal to me and might walk their own paths.”

“What did they decide?” Myfanwy asked, from her position riding behind Varric on Ague's back.

“Most remained with me,” Dirthamen gave a thin smile. “Those that remained at my side were killed.”

“Killed?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“Either by the blades of men, or their diseases, yes,” he said, sounding deeply sorrowed. He still managed to meet her eyes for a moment. More than once in their travels Astlyr had caught Dirthamen watching her. If she didn't know better she might suspect he had a crush. She shook such absurd notions from her mind as they pressed on.

One night, when she has caught Dirthamen's eyes fixed on her again, she had asked Cole if he could get a read on the god. The boy had shook his head. “He shuts his thoughts away, deep were I cannot fathom. Little crannies I can't find. He's better at it than Fen'Harel.”

~~~~~

Before they reached Carr's Way Astlyr and her team managed to scavenge together enough garb for Dirthamen to wear. As Cullen had wisely pointed out, riding into the village with a man attired as a Venatori would not endear them to the townsfolk. “I could pretend to be your prisoner,” Dirthamen offered as he tried on Cullen's extra breeches. They were a bit tight around the man's ample midsection and long in the leg, but he did not complain.

“We want you to be well treated,” Astlyr assured him.

When the village finally came into view, and with it the waters of the long river, Astlyr urged Thorn to a fast canter. The beast surged across the sands as though it were level terrain. Thorn tossed her head and let out a long trumpeting sound, which was mimicked by her companions. Even Astlyr could recognize this as a happy vocalization. She let the drac have a bit of rein, and was pleased when she was not rewarded for her gesture with a buck. The others had a bit more difficulty and their own mounts' frolicked and trying to keep up with Thorn.

Astlyr felt a rush of pleasure take her as she rode down the last hill, catching a glimpse of The Griffin's white sails and the sunburst flag flying high and proud. She hoped they had not been waiting in port too long. Her journey had taken more time than she intended.

Astlyr and her company road down the little town's main street, which ended at the wharf. She paid no heed to the startled looks and muttering that followed them. She was headed for the inn, food without sand in it, and perhaps even a bath.

Tethering the dracs outside she marched straight into the building and up to the bar. She plunked a satchel of gold onto the boards, “baths for me and my men if you please, and as quick as you like. I am not spending one moment longer than I have to encrusted with sand. Don't worry,” she saw the eyes of the man behind the bar go very large and round as he took in the offered coin, “the Inquisition is footing the bill.”

“Jammy! Get yer arse out here!” the man shouted towards the back.

“What is it, Da?” a youth asked, stepping out at his father's call.

“Fetch the best tubs upstairs to the rooms and see them filled with water, smartish! Our guests are in need of a soothing bath. NOW, lad!”

It was not long before Astlyr and Myfanwy were cordoned into one of the inn's two upstairs rooms. The men were in the other, already talking boisterously as they took turns to use the tub, which was dutifully emptied and refilled by the innkeeper's determined brood of children. A young girl stood waiting her task as Myfanwy finished her scrub. Astlyr was standing at the mirror, attempting to cope with her hair. “I don't know how you handle curls, Myfanwy,” she said, glancing at her elvish friend in the mirror. She stifled a chuckle to see the stark tan-lines on Myfanwy's usually paper-pale skin. She checked herself in the mirror and found that her face and hands were shades darker than the rest of her. She did laugh then, startling the poor girl waiting in the corner.

Finally clean, after several tubs of bath water which had been filled with enough sand to start their own river bank, Astlyr and company reconvened on the main floor of the tavern. Dirthamen, while still trapped in the body of what was likely a slovenly dullard, had managed to clean it up nicely at the very least. The shoulder length black hair was no longer greasy and was pulled back in a tidy tail. His face looked more pleasant freshly washed and lacking the scruffy stubble that had patched across it like moss.

Astlyr took a moment to appreciate Cullen, clean shaven and smelling wonderful. His hair was still a little disheveled from the wash, and it was decidedly more curly now that it was longer. She smiled and kissed him, even as the befuddled patrons watched with wide eyes. Once again the whole town had turned up in the tavern, once news got around that the Inquisitor was back.

The important job of hygiene out of the way Astlyr went outside and marched to the port. The Griffin dwarfed the little wharf it had cozied up to, which was normally intended for fishing vessels. Astlyr was in a good mood. She was clean, she was going home, and the mission had been a success (for the most part). “Ahoy The Griffin!” she shouted boisterously. “Is there anyone on board who will take some weary travelers east?”

A moment passed, then a few heads popped up over the rail. “Strap me, there she is!” Finna cried exuberantly. “Are ye ready to come aboard, Lady? The crew were just sleeping through the worst of the day below, but I can rouse their sorry arses quick as you like!”

“Get them stirring,” Astlyr called up to the ship's first mate, “but don't rush. I have a bit of business to finish up in town before we get underway.”

“Right you are, Inquisitor!” Finna called, then she vanished from the rail and Astlyr could already hear her cussing out the crew in her own special brand of leadership.

Astlyr and her company set about the business to separating what desert supplies remained to them, and what they intended to keep. They checked over the Dracs, as best they could, to ensure each beast was hale and sound. Two men from Carr's Way had been commissioned to return the creatures and remaining supplies to Professor Frederic.

Astlyr carefully tucked the bottle of wine she had claimed from the Venatori away in one of her packs, wrapped snugly in a blanket and cloak she seldom used. It was a miracle it hadn't broken yet and she wasn't about to let it now.

Once everything had been squared away the group rejoined the crew of The Griffin aboard their fine ship. The captain greeted them each with a hearty handshake as they came aboard. “Good to see you again, Master Tethras! Young Cullen, how was your adventure?” He raised an eyebrow when Dirthamen stepped onto the deck. “Who is this now? Picking up strays are we?” he cocked a bushy eyebrow at Astlyr.

“He was the objective of our mission,” she explained. “This is...Dirth.” She was glad there were no elves aboard The Griffin, or she suspected she might have gotten a few skeptical looks. As it was, Dirthamen himself was obviously struggling to contain a snort of laughter. This made her own lip twitch, but she managed to keep her serious tone. “We must return with him to Skyhold.”

“Right enough,” Kale said, turning to greet the rest of Astlyr's people.

“They all like and trust you,” Dirthamen observed quietly to her. “The people of the village didn't, but these people do.”

“I'm their Inquisitor, and for some, their Herald. I explained a bit of that to you as we rode.” she answered the god as he stood a little uneasily beside her, arms folded, taking in the ship.

“But it's more than faith that keeps them loyal,” Dirthamen pointed out, watching Astlyr's people interact with the crew like lifelong friends reuniting. “Your actions. The ones you told me of. Defeating that blighted magister claiming to be a god. Saving the world from a giant rip in the veil.”

“Those things certainly helped,” she nodded, unable to contain a smile.

The captain had given Finna an order and now the avvar was setting about kicking the crew into shape. They bustled to and fro, ready to make way. Sails were unfurled to their fullest to catch the hot wind coming off the desert. It would propel the vessel cleanly back towards the Waking Sea with no trouble.

“Perhaps there is something more as well,” Dirthamen went on. “You seem have have earned the special trust of some who are rare gems indeed,” He was watching Cole now. The boy was teleporting their gear below for storage. “Perhaps there is something more in you than Fade magic in your veins.”

“Maybe,” Astlyr shrugged off his words. “I do my best by my people. It's what a leader must do.”

“Indeed it is,” Dirthamen was managing to achieve a sage smile, even on the round, scarred face he had been given.

~~~~~

The next few days of sailing brought The Griffin back out onto the Waking Sea. The nights on deck were punctuated with wrestling matches, songs and dancing. Varric's games of Wicked Grace were as popular as ever, and he handily earned himself more coin than he could possibly need. Astlyr suspected he was finding ways to disseminate it back to the crew. Otherwise they would be too broke to continue their gaming.

The sea sickness was not as bad this time, though Myfanwy and Cullen were still afflicted. Astlyr, gained her sea legs quickly, remaining on deck as much as she could. For a few short days the weather was perfect. A happy blend between desert heat and the winter chill of the east. Nights sleeping under the sails were the most pleasant. Cullen joined her often to stargaze and chat.

Dirthamen, while shy at first, settled in with the crew quickly. He seemed to relish conversation and could often be seen engaged in some deep debate with one crewman or another. He even managed to convince Six to utter more than a few syllables. Astlyr had to admit she was impressed, but then, it did make sense. A god of secrets had to be well liked. No one would tell you their secrets if they didn't trust you. Astlyr still regarded the god with caution, however. She'd been manipulated enough by self proclaimed deities to suit her for a lifetime.

Dirthamen did display a marked liking for her. He spent time with her when he could. Sometimes he asked questions, others he was silent. She answered him as best she could. The world he had found himself in still baffled him. “I was most saddened to hear of the Children of the Stone. Their culture is fading. In my time they were never seen above the surface. We knew they were there, of course, but elvhen had no desire to delve into the earth and the dwarves, for their part, seemed contented to remain there. I asked Varric, but he tells me he has no idea if the Children of the Stone even knew of the elvhen living above them.”

“If there is one lesson I am taking away from all this-” Astlyr said, her hands busy coiling some lengths of rope (she had asked Finna to put her to work and the woman had obliged), “It is that cultures and peoples come and go. Nothing seems to last forever. Who knows how long my own race will walk the world. They don't seem overly concerned with it, from what I have seen.”

“I am intrigued that there are so many different peoples now,” Dirthamen said, the wind ruffling his straight, pitch black hair. “In my time we had only the elvhen, and I was given little opportunity to know humans. Fen'Harel assures me that they are, in general, a good people.”

“Most of them,” Astlyr agreed, setting down the heavy coil she had created and selecting another massive pile of rope to work.

Dirthamen leaned against a barrel, contemplative. “What saddens me the most is the loss of the Fade. The distance which is now placed between that world and this.”

“Was the Fade less demon-filled in your time?”

“Oh no. Those spirits which you call demons were prevalent. Especially once the conflicts amongst ourselves began. But the good, kind spirits still pushed through the veil. Still sought us and gathered around us. Here the only spirit I have seen is Compassion. I'm sorry,” he corrected himself, “you call him Cole. He is your Spirit Companion, yes?”

“Yes,” Astlyr sat forward, her hands ceasing their work on the rope for a moment. “You have memories of that time. What are Spirit Companions? Were they common?”

“Not common, no. Many spirits walked in our world, but only a few would linger. Those who bound themselves to one of The People they deemed especially worthy. You are blessed indeed to have drawn Compassion to you. You must have a singular desire to help those around you.”

“I suppose if I hadn't I would have said 'fuck you' to the Inquisition long ago. Something made me stay besides all the swords pointed at me.” Astlyr shrugged.

“Something compelled you to be their leader,” Dirthamen agreed. “This was what drew Compassion to you. This is why he chose to bind himself to you forever.”

“But what is the point of it?” Astlyr asked.

“Friendship,” Dirthamen answered simply. “What more is needed?”

Astlyr sat back, pondering this. Perhaps that really was all there was to it. The desire for a spirit, something so far from human, or elven, to be like them. To remain with them. She caught sight of Cole across the deck. He was sitting with some of the sailors, allowing them to see him. While some had forgotten that he had traveled with them on the trip out, he wasted no time in reminding them. The Cole she had first met had been afraid, cautious. Did her influence have anything to do with his willingness to let others see and remember him? Was he truly less afraid?

She was about to open her mouth to ask Dirthamen another question when a shout rattled across the deck. “DRAGON!”

“DRAGON!” the cry was echoed by anyone who heard until the entire vessel rang with it.

Captain Kale flew onto the deck with surprising speed for a man of his years. “Where away?!” he asked, pulling on his long coat and squinting towards the Tevinter mountains.

“Three points to starboard!” a crewman shouted.

The captain raised a spyglass to his eye as Finna came to stand at his shoulder, a look of tough determination on her rough features.

Astlyr abandoned her ropes, rising to stand and peering in the direction that had been indicated. At first she saw nothing, but the crew of The Griffin had fallen into a terrified silence. She could hear each wave of the choppy Waking Sea assaulting the vessel as even the ship seemed to hold her breath.

“There!” Kale snapped his glass shut. “Good eyes, Ren! Well spotted.” he turned to his waiting crew, everyone having frozen in place, no matter what they were doing. Someone had been pouring a bucket of slop over the deck and now stood still, slop poised to tumble into the waters. “Alright, crew, you know the drill! Take in the sails! Pull down the flags! I want us unobtrusive. I don't want that beastie so much as giving us a second glance!”

Everyone exploded into action. The sails were shipped faster than Astlyr had ever seen them. The sunburst flags were pulled from their places on the mast and tucked away. Anything bright or flashy was removed from the deck. Shining metal or glass. Things that might catch the attention of the dragon. Astlyr's people moved to gather around her. Uneasy, awaiting her order. “Just stay out of the way and do as the captain commands,” Astlyr instructed them. She had fought dragons many times before. More than most, she suspected, but never at sea. Never from the rocking deck of a smallish ship. She swallowed. The Griffin had no mages save Fen, and he would be little help with his earth magics.

“Archers on deck,” the captain ordered, this time more quietly. Now that the dragon had hove its way closer the crew fell into a hushed, subdued state. They moved slowly, carefully as though they tread on eggshells. Bows were brought from below and Finna took a place in the line of archers, awaiting orders with slack bowstrings. Myfanwy went to join them without being bidden. They nodded to her, allowing her into their ranks.

The arrows would do little against an adult dragon, Astlyr knew, but they might harass the beast off it it was not determined to have the ship.

The dragon flew nearer and nearer, though it did not seem to dip lower. It was ignoring The Griffin. An insignificant speck on the water. Still, the wind changed as the creature flew over. Only marginally, but Astlyr could feel it, and could smell the stink of dragon on the breeze. Had the flags been flying they might have changed direction as the great beast passed over the ship.

The crew watched it go with wary eyes. No one dared speak for a long moment. Then someone pointed and a panicked whisper rippled across the deck. “Another!”

All eyes turned to see a second dragon, smaller than the first, flying towards them, following the sky trail of its brethren. This dragon flew a bit lower and Astlyr squinted. “Is it...carrying something?”

“What was that?” Captain Kale asked, glancing at Astlyr before locking his eyes back on the flier.

“May I have your glass, captain?' Astlyr questioned in a hushed voice.

Kale passed her the spyglass and she unfurled it, lifting it to her eye. Once she had found the dragon, flapping doggedly against the wintery blue of the sky, she wondered aloud, “it does look as though this one is carrying something. Did the last one have anything in its claws?”

“It was too far away to tell,” Cullen answered.

“Can you see what is carries?” Fen'Harel's voice was laced with concern.

“No,” Astlyr admitted. “It looks like a chunk of wood. A large one. A plank of some kind, maybe. Do dragons build nests? Could it be nesting material.”

“I didn't think they did,” Cullen admitted, watching the creature steadily make its way over their heads. 

“Where's old Frederic when you need him?” griped Varric.

“If I remember I'll send him a letter on the subject when we get home,” Astlyr said, removing the glass from her eyes and telescoping it shut. “Odd behavior, but the dragon doesn't seem to have noticed us. I think we're in the clear.”

“Looks as though they are heading towards Fereldan,” Cullen pointed out.

“Well, we know there is good dragon habitat there,” Astlyr countered. “I personally cleared a few good nesting sites of their old occupants. Perhaps this is a mated pair looking for a place to raise young.”

“Goodie,” Varric snarked, folding his arms. He was never one for dragon hunting. If someone was going to get hurt in such skirmishes it was almost always the rogue.

“I don't think we should worry about it now,” Astlyr said, handing the captain back his glass. “Once everything is settled again I'll ride out and deal with the creatures. Cas and Bull have been itching for a good dragon slaying, I can tell.”

“Suits me,” Varric remarked, still watching the sky where the two dragons were now twin specks against the blue. “I'll write about the heroic slaying later. From your first hand accounts, of course.”

“Looks like the danger is passed,” the captain said, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Back to business men. Well done.”

Astlyr's people dispersed again, talking with the crew about dragons, and how often they could be expected to encounter them at sea. Only Cole remained standing beside Asrtlyr. His head was tilted back so that his hat nearly fell off. His eyes matched the sky in pale hue as he wrung his hands. Astlyr knew simply by the way he held himself that he was getting something. Some pain or negative emotion that he couldn't place. “Talk to me, Cole,” she urged him. She hadn't thought the day would come when she would need to request his words.

“Old pain. So deep, so sad. Weeping for the children lost. Wish to right was was wronged. Mistakes all pile together like logs, and then they burn. Burn up. Scorches my soul and I cannot bleed for the what was taken...” he staggered back, having leaned back so far looking at the sky that he almost fell over.

Astlyr steadied her friend. “What do you mean, Cole? The dragon? Or are you reading someone else?”

“I d- I don't know. It's gone all muddy,” he wrung his hands so hard that Astlyr was compelled to take them in her own. The icy coolness of them was something she thought she might never get used to. “Curtains hide what shouldn't be spied.” he muttered, his hands trying to wriggle free of hers. “So deep. So sad. So much.”

“Whose? Fen's? Dirthamen? Did you break through his barrier?”

“I c- I can't...I can't, I don't know,” Cole seemed more distressed than she had seen in some time.

“Alright. It's alright. We'll find a way to help, but you must be calm,” she soothed. She drew him to her, expecting this to settle him, but he wriggled in her arms and she let him pull away. “Cole?”

“It's too much, Astlyr,” he moaned. “We can't help. How can we rise against what we can't help?”

“Sweet one, what's wrong? Tell me please,” she begged. His distress was reaching into her like icy fingers. Agitation was better avoided if you were qunari. Could he cause her to blood rage with too much anxiety?

Cole hugged himself, rocking slightly. She noticed that some of the crew who had been staring at the scene they were making, had moved on as though there was nothing amiss. Cole was making them forget. Making them look past him like an uninteresting object on the deck. Astlyr had a sudden thought. She grabbed a dagger from her belt. She pulled up a sleeve of her heavy tunic and sliced her forearm. Cole's eyes were on her in an instant, as though she had cut him.

He was at her side, soothing the sting with his touch, and staunching the blood with a bit of bandage from his belt pack. He looked up at her, shame written on his features. “I'm sorry,” he muttered. “You should not have needed to do that.”

“It's alright, Cole,” she said as he sopped up the blood from the shallow cut. “I won't do it again unless I really have to.” She didn't dare ask him more about what he had been feeling. She hoped whatever it was would either make itself obvious, or sort itself out. She looked to the sky as Cole neatly bandaged the wound. No sign of dragons now, but she decided it was an ill omen none the less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely in love with this chapter, but then again I usually feel that way about travel chapters. But Dirthamen guys. Seems like a nice fella, actually. Is he really? Who knows *shifty eyes*
> 
> What's with the dragons? Is that a thing?
> 
> Oh man, kids, I have SOOO many feels right now because I am getting so close to the end (writing wise). You know that feeling you get when you have almost finished a novel you love? Double that and you have how a writer feels. Ugh. I keep finding lame excuses not to write it. "Oh look...that cat needs washing!" "Huh, a loose thread on my shirt. Better pick at it foreeeeeeever". Definitely not writing the end of my book...*glances around* Nope. No ends here.
> 
> Y'all can keep me determined with your comments! I love to hear from you! Any time I see a comment it literally makes my day (am I sad or what?)
> 
> My feels also sometimes become art. Like this: http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/My-Choice-aka-The-Dread-Wolf-Colored-543567557
> 
> Next chapter: 7/9/15
> 
> Keep up to date here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	32. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo, we're back to the imaginative chapter titles. Bet you'll never guess what this chapter is about. ;)
> 
> But what has happened at Skyhold while Astlyr and crew have been gone? Danger? Intrigue? Dance parties? Time to find out!

Part 32  
Homecoming

Skyhold. It was a welcome sight indeed. Astlyr could have kissed the stones. Hugged the turrets and spires. The cold was unpleasant, but after the desert she was willing enough to face it again. As they rode towards the fortress on borrowed horses, Dirthamen asked her many questions. He claimed he knew the place, though, of course, not the military installation perched atop what had been a temple. “Many of my faithful would leave me offerings here,” he said, fondly.

“Your shrine remains,” Myfanwy rode up beside them. “I can show you.”

“If it would be permissible,” Dirthamen dipped his head towards Astlyr in deference to her judgment.

“You'll have to be treated as all our other 'godly' guests,” Astlyr explained. “You'll be kept under guard and spend much of your time in your quarters. However, I believe exception can be made for a visit to the temple. If it is supervised.”

“Of course,” Dirthamen agreed.

Astlyr glanced towards Fen'Harel. “Why can't you be more like him, huh?”

Fen gave her one of his cocky grins, “not all gods are the same. Just as not all qunari are deadly berserkers.”

“Fair enough,” Astlyr said with a slight smirk, “but you could try taking a few pages from his book all the same.”

Fen'Harel made a show of shuddering at the thought. Astlyr laughed at him as they approached the massive bridge which would take them to the gates of Skyhold. To her surprise she spotted Alun the stone wolf standing sentinel before the bridge, was not alone. Instead several mages were with him, and they appeared to be playing. The massive statue creature frolicked in the snow as the mages moved around him. One young elf with bright, auburn hair which shone like fire in the cold daylight, was pulling boulders from a nearby pile with her gift and tossing them for Alun to run and fetch.

“Maker. What has Cassandra let the place fall to?” Cullen joked, spurring his mount forward. “Is anyone keeping watch at all, or have we declared this a holiday?”

Astlyr urged her own horse to canter after her lover. They reached the main gates in good time and were greeted from above by the wall guard, who sounded pleased to see them returned. The portcullis slid neatly up and Astlyr led her people through the gate. Back home.

Cassandra appeared with Josie almost at once. Astyr groaned, “at least let me get off my horse before you bombard me with news.”

Both women stopped and stood silent, slightly impish expressions on their faces as they waited for Astlyr's boots to strike cold cobblestones. Seeing this Astlyr dismounted as slowly as she could with a lazy swing of her long leg. Several of the nearby guards were chuckling. When she was finally on the ground, the diplomat stepped forward, “was your journey a successful one, Inquisitor?”

“It was indeed,” Astlyr gestured to Dirthamen, who was still on his horse and being scrutinized by wary guardsmen.

“That is...not what I expected,” Cassandra said, leaning around Astyr to take in the newcomer.

“It's a long story. Let's just say we have a new 'guest' and he is to be treated the same as our other 'guests'”

Cassandra got the idea at once and relayed this to the guards who led Dirthamen away, not unkindly, to find his quarters. The rest of Astlyr's crew devoted themselves to unpacking their saddlebags and getting about the business of settling back in. Varric strode over and held something out to Cassandra. “Here you go, Seeker. Little souvenir for you from our adventure.”

“A book?” Cassandra took the offered gift. “A copy of Swords and Shields?”

“I know you already have one, but it's getting a bit battle worn and this one looks new. I don't think the Venatori even cracked the spine.”

“The Ven-” Cassadnra shook her head, “I'm certain this will all be in the report. Thank you for the book, Varric.” she gave him one of her best smiles, which was surprisingly sweet when she wanted it to be.

“No trouble,” Varric waved away the gesture, trying and failing to hide his own grin.

“We have much to report to you, Inquisitor,” Josephine announced. “We should probably get your debriefing out of the way first.” the diplomat pointed out, ignoring the Inquisitor's annoyance.

“As you like,” Astlyr agreed, following the two women into Skyhold. Cullen strode along beside her, making certain that Cas saw him scrutinizing the courtyard.

“Will you stop that?” the seeker asked, barely able to conceal the mirth in her voice.

“I'm just surprised is all. I'm gone for weeks and the place is still in once piece.”

“Oh shut your mouth,” Cas retorted, “you know I am quite capable. We hardly noticed you were gone.”

“How are the repairs on the tower coming?” Astlyr questioned, forestalling any more goodhearted bickering between the two military commanders.

“Quite well,” Josephine replied, gesturing to the structure as Astlyr and company hesitated on the stairs to the keep. The tower looked to be in excellent condition from the outside. Astlyr knew she would need to stop in and check the interior repairs as soon as she was able. “The mages tell me that in the spring they will begin traveling to locate copies of some of the tomes which were destroyed.”

“Excellent,” Astlyr said as she stepped into the relative warmth of Skyhold's main hall. She was greeted by the familiar smell of lit braziers and cool stones. The scent of her home. The Fereldan banners still hung on display, in part to show pride for their homeland, but also to keep in the heat. Everything looked as it should be. Part of her always worried, as he journeyed far and wide, that she would return to find Skyhold attacked and besieged. Unable to defend itself. She knew better than to believe herself the soul source of Skyhold's commanding power, but she could not stand the thought of the fortress falling without her to try to save it.

They entered Josie's office, and soon the four were settled in chairs around the crackling fire. Tea was called for, and light refreshments to accompany it. It had been so long since Astyr had tasted good Skyhold fare that she ate more than her portion. Fortunately Josie was too busy scribbling notes to scold her for her lack of decorum. As they ate, Astlyr and Cullen related their adventures. The Venatori attacks, and of locating the foci. They explained, as best they could, how the elvhen god Dirthamen had been resurrected and given the nearest body to hand.

Cassandra was not pleased. She folded her arms, scowling. “You were supposed to retrieve the foci. I did not expect you to resurrect the god with it.”

“Neither did we,” Cullen admitted, sitting forward and resting his arms on his knees. “It...seemed the thing to do at the time.”

“He doesn't appear to be a threat,” Astlyr offered. “He traveled with us for some time and made no attempts to harm us.” Astlyr caught Cas's glare, “Of course, we are being cautious, as we have been with the others. He will not be afforded special trust. I know how manipulative these gods can be.” Cas's continued glare indicated to Astlyr that the woman was still displeased at the mere notion of so many powerful 'gods' in their fortress.

“Who better to face the gods than the gods themselves?” Astlyr pressed.

“You may be correct, if we must indeed encounter these elven creatures again,” Cassandra refused to name them as deities. “Perhaps those on our side can persuade the others.”

Astlyr did not bother mentioning that she thought this unlikely. She had woefully little expertise in this area. Instead she finished up her report, concluding with the dragon sighting and the easy journey back to Skyhold. She brushed off the dragon issue, assuring the group that she would do some slaying later, if the need arose. This seemed enough for Cas and Josie, who appeared eager to share news of their own.

“Alright, I can see the two of you chomping at the bit. What drama have I missed while I've been away?”

Josephine rose and crossed the room. She opened her door and addressed a guard who was waiting outside. “Please fetch Master Crow to my office.”

“Master Crow?”

“A spy,” Josie explained. “One of ours,” she put in hastily. “To be accurate, he is one of Divine Victoria's. He was stationed in Halam'shiral. He came to us last week with some dire news.”

“Dire news. My favorite kind,” Astlyr snarked, swigging her tea and suddenly wishing it was ale. “Can't we ever have some pleasant news? Or- merely bad news?”

“Dire is all we can afford,” Cullen quipped as the door opened again and a lithe, small man stepped inside. His was dressed in nondescript brown clothes. His skin was pale and his almond shaped eyes intense and intelligent. Astlyr noticed at once that his left arm ended at the elbow, obviously cut off in some past battle as it showed no sign of blood or bandaging now. The man crossed to Astlyr and took a knee before her, head bent low, “Herald. It is an honor to finally meet you in person. The Divine has spoken much of you,”

“Er, please, stand,” Astlyr urged the man, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. As one of Lelianna's cronies, he probably thought her sent by the Maker and marked by his bride.

“My name is Crow Fallow,” the man said, rising to stand in the at-ease position before her. He looked at no one else in the room, instead fixing Astlyr with a gaze like a drill which she felt could bore into her marrow. She was certain his keen eyes were taking in every detail of her, from her horns to her scuffed boots and raggedy traveling tunic.

“Report, Crow Fallow,” Astlyr said, deciding that if he was looking for a military commander, at least her voice could meet the mark.

“I am sorry to have to bring you this news, ma'am,” the man said, his voice taking on the slightest tightness. An edge of fear, was it? “The spies you had sent to the city of Hilam'Shiral have all been slain.”

“What? By who? How?” Astlyr tried to keep her tone measured, and failed.

Crow looked decidedly edgy as he answered, “I cannot tell you how all died, but most were ferreted out and slaughtered by the elves of the city. Elves that I might have thought had little concern for Inquisition spies. The common people were not the ones being watched, and yet they are the ones who attacked. I too lost many comrades. They almost had me, but I escaped them with the news I bring you now. The Divine instructed me to bring it to you directly.”

There was no sound for a long moment save the crackling of the fire and the mad scribbling of Josie's quill on parchment. Astyr's breath caught in her throat. No words seemed willing or able top push themselves past her lips. Cullen and Cassandra looked stricken as well. Josephine finished her writing and exhaled a great breath of sorrow. “I dare not send more men,” she said, her voice low. “Crow told me of this before you returned home,” she clarified.

“The information your people may have imparted to you, had they survived, is this;” Crow seemingly had more to speak of than the death of so many good spies. “An attempt has been made on the Empress's life. She has fled the palace. We are uncertain where she has taken up hiding, and even the nobles do not seem certain who is to rule in her stead.”

“The power vacuum that would create--is creating, must be devastatingly,” Cullen murmured, running and hand through his hair.

“I was forced to flee for my life before I could ascertain who will take the throne in her absence. She may have appointed someone who had yet to come forth. I do not know.”

“You were right to retreat,” Astlyr assured the man. “You would have been no use to us dead.” Crow seemed pleased. Perhaps he was not accustomed to his life being valued.

“Is there more to report?” Cassandra asked, not unkindly.

“No, ma'am. That is all the information that I have,” Crow said, snapped to smart attention. “With your permission I will leave you. I am wanted by my Divine as soon as I am able to return.”

“Alright,” Astlyr said, meeting Crow's intense gaze one more time, trying to parse out whether he was holding anything back. She could see nothing but cold honesty in the spy's eyes, but she knew a good spy could conceal what they did not wish known. “You are dismissed. Thank you, master Crow.”

“I thank you, Lady Herald,” he bowed an elegant leg, sweeping low and out of the room.

“Has Orlais asked for our aid?” Astlyr questioned the diplomat.

“They have not. It is well within the Inquisition's rights to send troops at this point, if we see fit. We have already prevented one assassination, our presence would likely be accepted.”

“I don't like it,” Astlyr muttered, scratching the base of a horn. “The elves of Halam'Shiral killing our people. This mystery attempt on the Empress's life. All of it gets my hackles up and I can't put my finger on why.”

“They do seem likely to be connected.” Cassandra agreed, her dark eyes watching the fire.

“Do we send troops?” Cullen asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“Not yet,” Astlyr said, already wondering if she was making a mistake as soon as the words left her lips. “We know that any spies we send will probably be slain, and I cannot send troops in blind. Instead, recall the Inquisition soldiers to the fortress.”

Cullen watched her, considering her words. “They won't be pleased to leave newly repaired homes and farms.”

“They're soldiers. They'll come when they're called,” said Cassandra with much more surety than Astlyr felt.

“I want to have the full army at our disposal should we need to send them out on a moment's notice,” Astlyr explained. No good waiting until we're in the thick before we send for our men.”

“That is wise,” Cassandra nodded as Josie scribbled madly, shuffling papers with careless ease and not dropping one.

“I will send out the call immediately,” Josephine finished her writing and looked up, scanning the faces of Skyhold's military leaders and its Inquisitor. “Do we wish our spies to investigate anywhere else?”

“Keep them here for the moment,” Astlyr said. “I won't lose any more pointlessly. As much as it pains me to be uninformed about what is going on in the world, we must be cautious.”

“We are in agreement on that score,” said Cullen.

“That's all I can think to do for now,” Astlyr sighed, rocking back in her chair, then forward to stand. “If you require me in the next few hours, I'll be spending some much needed time regrouping with a dear friend.”

“Ah, yes. Dorian is with Titus,” Cassandra easily guessed who Astlyr wanted to see, rising to her own feet and straightening her tunic. She still wore the more regal attire of a general rather than the armor of a soldier she normally favored. Astlyr recalled that, as fierce as Cassandra was in the field, she had been raised in culture.

“I'll go with you,” Cullen offered. “I wanted to check in on the young templar. See how he's fairing.”

“Alright,” Astlyr agreed and she and Cullen left the office.

They walked in silence to Dorian's rooms, where they knew the two men had sequestered themselves as Titus attempted to break free of lyrium's grasp. The pair did not hold hands, but allowed their knuckles to brush flirtatiously as they went. Astlyr felt certain this did not go unnoticed by the few people who were gathered in the main hall to talk or meet friends. She noted, as they passed him, that Varric had installed himself in his chair by the big fire and was already hard at work, no doubt transcribing his notes of their desert adventures while the events were still fresh. Across from him at his table perched Myfanwy. She was drawing rapid sketches of dracolisks, demons, and fleeing Venatori. Astlyr chuckled as he caught sight on an illustration which depicted her standing, be-horned and terrifying, with her hand raised to open a rift. The Venatori who clustered before her looked ready to wet themselves. The elf had their expressions perfect, Astlyr thought with a grin.

Before heading up to Dorian's rooms she and Cullen raided the kitchens. The helpers were as pleased to see her as ever, and when she mentioned she was bringing food to the beleaguered mage the cooks set to work creating a tray of tempting options. Sweet breads, warm tea, and dried fruit with nuts. Someone even scraped together a squash and potato soup, the smell of which made Astlyr's mouth water. She and Cullen each sampled a bowl as they waited for the tray to be finished. The two leaned casually against an unused work table as they ate. Astlyr felt something nudge her foot. Cullen was resting his against hers. It reminded her of their capture, and how he had kept his foot on her leg, to reassure her. She smiled up into his face wishing she could someone capture and keep a moment.

Then the tray of food was finished and Astlyr hefted it carefully. “Well, if he doesn't love everything on here then I am no judge,” she beamed at the kitchen staff, who blushed and waved away her praise. The elf with the crooked teeth gave her a wide smile which she returned heartily. Then she and Cullen made their way from the heat of the kitchens and into the relative cool of the stairway.

Dorian's rooms were located near the library. They were small, but he had insisted upon proximity to books rather than size. His rooms were well decorated without being lavish. His style of good living prevailed in soft cushions and a large, high backed chair beside the tiny fire grate, but the starkness of Skyhold was not lost. Patches of grey stone were allowed to peek from behind tapestries. Asltyr had to admire her friend's taste as subtle crimsons blended with deeper earth tones, created a homey yet entirely elegant layout.

Dorian's bed was taken up by Titus. The young man appeared to be unconscious. His chest rose and fell slowly beneath the many blankets which had been laid over him. His face was pale as death, eyes sunken into dark sockets and his red hair drenched with sweat. A half filled jug of water sat beside the bed, as well as an untouched bowl of broth.

Dorian was in his chair, slumped in a doze. He looked worse for the wear as well. His usually vibrant skin was reduced to an ashy pallor and even his mustache seemed to droop. Astlyr crossed to her friend, setting the tray of food on a small, round table she knelt before Dorian, gently touching his knee. He jerked awake, then, seeing her, smiled broadly. “M'gel! I wondered when you were coming to see me. Cole's already been. He got Titus to sleep, poor lad. I've been up with him...” the mage hesitated, rubbing his temples as though this flurry of speech had taxed him.

“How's he been?” Cullen asked.

“I think he's seen the worst of it,” Dorian heaved a sigh, “He was better today, believe it or not. I got a little water in him and it didn't come back up, thank the gods.”

Cullen sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off a glove he laid a hand on the young templar's forehead. “He's warm, but not dangerously so,” affirmed.

“The healer has been here numerous times,” Dorian reassured them. “He's had a rough time, but I think he'll pull through it.”

“Have the dreams been bad?” Cullen asked, his voice soft as he gently arranged the young man's blankets.

“Yes,” Dorian slumped, as though trying to collapse in on himself. “When he's lucid he's able to tell me of them. Mostly abstract horrors, you know, but sometimes he sees his father. The man used to beat him. Makes me suddenly grateful for my family,” the mage smiled thinly.

“Dorian, you look done in,” Astlyr said, still kneeling before her friend, concern etched on her features.

“I've been up for a few long nights,” he admitted, attempting to wave away her worry with a hand which he barely had the energy to raise.

“Why not have some of the other templars sit with him?” Cullen asked. “I know that any of them would have been willing.”

“He said he didn't want them,” Dorian explained. “Said he'd already dishonored himself enough in their eyes.” Cullen made a clucking sound with his tongue which showed exactly what he thought of this notion.

“You need a break,” Astlyr announced, standing. “Come on. You can stay in my quarters tonight. Cullen will sit with Titus.”

“No, I'm alright M'gel, we can manage.” Dorian protested.

“You can, but you won't” she said, putting on her commanding voice. It was startling in the small space. “Come.” she held out her hands to him.

“Do you see how she bosses me?” Dorian shot a playful glance towards Cullen. “Does she boss you?”

“I like being bossed by her,” Cullen managed a smirk before the blush overtook him.

Dorian laughed, then took Astlyr's offered hands. “Well, if you're going to start snapping orders and dragging me around, I suppose I had better comply.”

“Wouldn't want me to blood rage and ruin your decor,” Astlyr chuckled, hauling her friend to his feet. He swayed and leaned against her with a grunt. “Alright. Easy,” she said, her voice softening considerably.

“Just light headed,” Dorian said. “Bit of a headache from staying up so late.”

“All the more reason to get you somewhere quiet to rest.” Astlyr said. She glanced at the tray of food, knowing she would be unable to carry it and support her friend at the same time.

“I'll have someone bring it up to you,” Cullen reassured her.

“Thank you, love,” she said, catching herself on the last word, then letting it pass. The templar showed no sign that he found it unusual.

“Come on you big dandy,” Astlyr turned back to Dorian, draping his arm over her broad shoulders. “Let's go.”

Titus made a coughing sound and Dorian hesitated. “I've got him. Go,” Cullen's tone was so firm there could be no more argument.

Dorian slumped willingly against Astlyr's strong arm, obviously relishing the feeling of being supported as much as she enjoyed supporting him. It felt good to be doing this, the simplest form of helping. Cole would be pleased, she thought, as the two made their way slowly across the main hall. Varric spotted them, “you alright, Sparkler? Do we need a healer?”

“He'll be fine,” Astlyr called back to her dwarvish companion. “I'm looking after him.”

“I won't survive it!” Dorian managed to join the snark, “send help! I won't live out the hour!”

Astlyr heard Varric chuckling as she and Dorian negotiated the stairs up to her rooms. What a pity there were so many of the damn things. Her quarters were cold, no fire burning. Of course, she cursed herself inwardly, she should have asked for her rooms to be prepared. “Don't fret,” Dorian raised a hand, and with a twist of his wrist a small fire sparked to life. “I can still manage simple magics,” he said when he gave him a glare for exerting himself.

She deposited her friend on the bed, where he sat, watching her move about. She drew the curtains closed to keep in the warmth, something she seldom did for herself, preferring it a bit chilly. Then she tossed a few soft-wood logs onto the hungry fire and returned to her friend. She knelt, beginning to unlace his boots. He tutted, “now then M'gel, I am perfectly capable of taking off my own boots.”

“So am I,” she said, “and look. I'm already doing it.”

“This is embarrassing,” he complained as she pulled one boot free and set to work on the other. His hands reached down to stay hers.

“Stop fussing and let me take care of you, dammit,” she snarled in the deadliest voice she could manage. It was hardly impressive, but it got the point across.

Dorian let out a loud, true laugh, holding his scarred side, “Hahahaha! Bless me! That is something I would never in a million years have guessed a qunari would one day say to me. Ahahahaha!”

“Oh hush,” she scolded, trying, and failing, to contain a smile as she tugged the other boot free. “Now the shirt.”

“You're just trying to get me into a state of undress. I knew it! I knew this Cullen thing was all a ruse!”

“Yes. It's you, Dorian. It's always been you,” she stopped her work and put her hands on either side of him on the bed, bringing her face close to his, struggling to keep a dopey, flirty expression, and failing. All her facial muscles seemed to be rebelling at once.

“It's the mustache, isn't it? Woman go wild for-”

It was then they both realized that a young man was standing in the doorway, holding the tray of food and looking thoroughly perplexed. “What's the matter?” quipped Dorian as Astlyr removed herself from the bed and went to accept the tray. “Haven't you ever seen a seedy dalliance before?”

“He's kidding,” Astlyr assured the youth as he retreated hastily from the room as though a raging inferno was at his back. She turned back to Dorian, who was watching her with weary eyes and smiling. “What are you in the mood for?” she laid out the delicious treats on her table, pouring tea for them both. It smelled minty and was still quite warm.

“Not terribly hungry at the moment,” the mage confided.

Astlyr crossed to her friend and held out a cup to him. When he had taken it she pressed her palm to his forehead. “Hmmm, a little warm I suppose. You've probably gone and made yourself ill. What good are you to Titus in that state?”

Dorian harrumphed, but gave little protest as he lifted the cup to his lips and blew delicately. He was still a refined gentleman, even when worn ragged. He sipped experimentally as Astlyr returned to the food and filled a wooden bowl with the soup. “Here. I think this is best.”

“Are you going to spoon feed it into me, poor patient that I am?” he asked, cheekily.

“You don't want that,” she said, settling the full bowl in his lap and pulling her chair over to sit beside him. “If I were you, I'd eat.”

“Threat understood,” the mage griped, but he set aside his tea and took a few spoonfuls of the soup. He closed his eyes, and Astlyr could not tell if he was relishing the flavor or falling asleep. His eyes opened again, meeting hers with such a bone weariness that her heart gave a little sting. “I've missed you, M'gel,” he said, his voice hushed and husky. “I didn't realize that I hadn't gone without you for such a long stretch in...well, since we met in that unfortunate future. Then you were gone on your desert quest and I...well...you know.”

“I missed you too,” she said, finding his hand and squeezing it.

He gave a heavy little sigh, resting back against her pillows, “I really don't feel terribly well at all.”

“Big of you to admit it,” Astlyr removed the soup from his lap and arranged the blankets over him, “alright. You just need a good sleep, that's all,” she soothed.

“Hmm,” he replied settling in.

Having tucked him in she crossed the room and poured cool water into a small basin from her pitcher, then selected a kerchief from a drawer in her stalwart wardrobe. The place where she had punched the furniture was still plainly visible. She recalled that day. How her friend had found her and bandaged her hand. Reaching his side she dampened the cloth and draped it gently over his eyes. A smile quirked the corners of his lips. “If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you with fire. I have an image to maintain.”

“So have I,” she chuckled. “My lips are sealed.”

She sat with him, offering sips of tea and re-wetting the cool cloth for his brow. He told her more about Titus in a quiet, gentle voice she had only heard him use a few times. “He's a good man, Astlyr. He's just made some bad choices. Haven't we all? He's so eager to atone it's... well it's sickeningly inspiring, really. But aren't we both trying to do that after all? I for my people and him for his mistakes.”

“So you really do like him?” she asked, her hand resting in his arm.

“I do, M'gel, quite a lot. It's too soon to cry true love, but I think I can safely say it's gone beyond meetings behind the garden shed.” He gave a little chuckle. “He's not as excited about books as I am, sadly. He grew up poor, but a mage in his first circle assignment taught him to read. He prefers the outdoors. Loves horses, as it happens, just like you. When he's better I'll take him visit Dandy in the stables. He's shy. Soft spoken.” 

“So everything you're not,” Astlyr smirked, though she knew he could not see her face, he could no doubt hear it in her voice.

“Opposites attract,” he replied. “He grew up on a little farm just outside of Lothering. Joined the templars as a youth right before the Blight. Wasn't sent to the Fereldan circle for training, thank goodness, or he probably would have been killed there. He was trying to support his family, you know? He's got a younger sister, Miriam, and his mother is still alive.”

“His family survived the Blight?” Astlyr questioned.

“Yes. When Lothering was sacked they were far enough away to see it coming and flee. His father still managed to get himself blighted and died, but no real loss there, by the sound of it. Titus lost contact with his mum and sister after the mage revolt. Now that he's with the Inquisition he says he'd like to try to find them again.”

“And he makes you happy?”

“He does.” Dorian's smile was small, but deeply earnest.

“Well, if he ever stops making you happy, just tell me and I'll kick his ass.” Astlyr reassured her friend, playfully.

“Are you my best friend or my older sister?” Dorian chuckled.

“If I'm your sister then it seems that you got all the looks in the family,” she muttered wryly, taking away the cloth and offering him a sip of tea, which he accepted.

“That's to be expected. I mean, look at me...well, now might not be the best example, but normally I could charm the pants off of passing insects.”

“What an absurd power to have,” Astlyr snorted, laying the rag gently back over his brow.

“Isn't it just?” he made a sound half way between a sigh and a whimper. “My head is pounding. Please... just talk to me until I fall asleep?” He settled back onto the bed.

“Alright,” Astlyr said, speaking more softly, “I can do that. I'll tell you all about our adventures in the desert.”

“This should be entertaining,” he mumbled, folding his hands on his stomach and snuggling deeper into her pillows.

“Oh, it is,” she smiled, setting a hand atop his. A small smile played on his lips as she began. “I think it truly started getting interesting the night that Fen'Harel beat a qunari in a wrestling match...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, ok ok. I admit it. That friend fluff with Dorian and Astlyr was mostly for me. I just love those two so damn much! They're the perfect friend pair and I love writing them because their snark levels go over 9,000 any time they're together! I know that moment was a lot more...fanfic-y than much of this book, but I gotta indulge sometimes. Mah feels!
> 
> In other news: call back the army because shit might go down. Probably smart, Astlyr. Probably smart.
> 
> I totally wrote Crow Fallow and then fell in love with him. After Old Gods is done, you all might get treated to a short story or two starring that hunk of awesome. Just sayin'.
> 
> Thanks for your support guys! I should say it more often, but having loyal readers makes my whole outlook much happier! You are all awesomesauce! It's you, readers. It's always been you. ;)
> 
> Random question: any of you guys writers? I'd love to check out your pages!
> 
> Next chapter: May be early or late. My week next week is going to be insane, so I don't know when I'll post for certain. I shall try to have it on time, but we shall see. A tentative: 7/16/15
> 
> Keep up to date, see book reviews, and chat about books in general right here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	33. Fade Walkers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapter is late. This week has been insane in the real world. I wish the real world would keep its grubby mits off of my fantasy.

Part 33  
Fade Walkers

The next morning Astlyr woke in her chair where she had managed to awkwardly pass out. Dorian, it seemed, was feeling worlds better. He was already up, had thrown a blanket over her, and was reheating some of their abandoned food from the night before over her fire and with his gift. “Thought you might sleep all morning,” he crowed, setting a large hunk of buttered sweet bread and some tea on the table near her. “Breakfast?”

“Shit, what time is it?” Astlyr glanced at the curtained windows, unable to see the sun.

“Mid-morn. I was about to wake you myself before you slept the day away.” he snarked, plopping down in her other chair and tucking into his own breakfast.

Astlyr groaned as she stretched long limbs. “My first night back and Skyhold and there's a mage in my bed so I have to sleep in a chair. Seems I'm doomed never to be comfortable.”

“All I hear is complaints from you, and I fixed this nice meal for us both. Now eat.”

“Looks who's bossing today,” She shot him an impish grin, then pulled her chair back to the table and settled in for a meal with her friend.

The two passed a pleasant morning, chatting and dining together. When they had finished, Astlyr piled some food back onto the tray. “Oh, I almost forgot this. I brought you back a present from the desert.”

“Oh gods, it's not a cactus is it?”

“Keep sassing me and we'll see what we can do,” she smirked, moving to her packs, which had been brought up to her room by willing hands when she had arrived home. She passed him the wine bottle she had secreted away from the Venatori camp. “I have no idea if it is any good, but I thought a little taste of home...”

Dorian hesitated, holding the wine out from himself, carefully reading the sand-buffed label. “Avanna...” he spoke to the bottle, then looked up at her, dark eyes wide, “this...this is an excellent gift, My Girl. Thank you!” Rarely, if ever, did her friend use the full version of the pet name he had given her. He cradled the bottle as if it were a babe. “This...was made near where I grew up.”

“So it's good?”

“It's swill,” he laughed. “But swill that I was allowed to sip as a child at table. I never thought...thank you.”

Asltyr felt uncomfortable and hastily changed the subject, “Come on, 'Vint, let's go relieve Cullen and see about your man.”

Dorian paused, catching her eyes and giving her a suggestive waggle of his brows, “I admit I fell asleep at some point in your story last night, but I do recall a certain templar being extremely dashing and heroic.”

Astlyr grinned from ear to ear. She couldn't have helped it if she tried. “He was. Very.”

“Have the two of you had a chance to...work out the tensions of that situation yet?”

“Not yet,” Astlyr picked up the tray.

“Well, no time to waste, M'gel! You go to that hero and demand he take you in a manly fashion.” Dorian picked up the tea pot, lifting it by the handle he held his other hand below it, a small flame appearing on his palm to keep the liquid warm. “Day old tea is better than no tea at all,” he commented, still grinning at her.

“How do you manage to make tea into a sexual innuendo?” Astlyr griped playfully as the two walked.

“Another of my many gifts.” Dorian proclaimed.

~~~~~

Titus was looking considerably better that morning as well. He was awake and even sitting up in bed, speaking quietly to Cullen, who sat beside him like a trusty hound. The young templar seemed to be listening with rapt attention to the man he obviously, deeply admired. The two looked up as Astlyr and Dorian entered the room.

“Ah, good morning,” Cullen greeted them brightly. Astlyr tried to hide a twang of annoyance that he managed looked somewhat rested while she felt like she'd been kicked all night by an angry two year old. “Feeling better?” he asked of Dorian.

“Much. Thanks in no small part to the motherly ministrations of your fine lady here,” he dipped a comical bow in Astlyr's direction.

“You call me motherly again-” Astlyr warned, not even needing to finish. Dorian moved to place the table between himself and his friend, making a show of looking terrified.

The one who actually looked terrified was poor Titus. What little color he had regained drained from his face as he looked up at the Inquisitor. Astlyr flinched. It hurt to see the fear in peoples eyes, especially in one she wanted to help. She wasn't even certain if it was her title, or her horns, or some frightening combination of all her features, that made the young man shrink from her. She stood back, like one faced with a frightened animal. Cullen intervened, “Titus, you've never been properly introduced. This is Astlyr Adaar, Inquisitor of Skyhold.”

Astlyr stepped uncertainly forward and extended a hand. She felt almost as shy as the man looked. She saw him swallow, faced with her hand, which was anything but small and dainty. Then he seemed to decide and slid his own hand from below the blankets. He shook hers with a firmness that surprised her, and she smiled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you properly.”

“L-likewise, ma'am,” the templar stuttered, releasing his grip and staring at his palm for a moment as though uncertain he had taken back the same limb he had given out.

Astlyr turned to Cullen, who had risen from Dorian's chair and was selecting a portions of food from the tray. “What are your plans for the day?” she asked.

“Josie has already called for my help rallying the troops. I know the locations of the more far flung soldiers. Cas wanted to go over guard rotations now that I'm back. That, and she wants to tell me all the things that have gone wrong around here without me to keep my eye on them,” he gave her a little smile, plucking a dried piece of fruit from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“Oh. Yes. Well...I have a full day too,” she lied. How was it that she was the leader of the whole damn fortress and no one had been clamoring for her time and attention? Was this really what it was like to be on top? Only useful for making judgments and hearing bad news? She caught Dorian giving her a significant look and she mouthed “later,” at him, sending him a stern glare.

Astlyr gave Titus a nod, which he, surprisingly, returned, and Dorian grabbed her for a hug before she could stop him. Not that she tried terribly hard. Then she and Cullen left the room.

“The young templar seems a pleasant fellow. It'll be interesting to know him when he's well,” Cullen commented. “He's brave for doing this. Or foolish. I can never keep that straight.” he gave her a crooked smile, then a quick kiss which did not last nearly long enough for Astlyr's taste, before departing for his office.

Astlyr huffed a sigh and glanced around. Well, she could find something to keep herself busy until later. She was the Inquisitor after all. Certainly somewhere, someone needed something heavy shifted.

Astlyr did settle on an occupation for the day. She checked in on the mage tower and found the repairs going well indeed. Several members of her building crew were already at work, aided by a few of the mages. Vivienne oversaw all. She had stepped in, unbidden, to act as a First Enchanter for them all, and it seemed that Skyhold's mages were generally pleased by this. The elegant woman's desire for structure and caution were well suited to the role, and she brought an air of respectability to what might have been seen as a gaggle of rebel mages without her. Astlyr didn't bother mentioning that Viv had never been officially appointed to the role. Everyone seemed to believe she had, so Astlyr simply let them. Why manage what was managing on its own?

She spent a good deal of her day helping with repairs and catching up with Viv and the building crew. The men had missed her, or at least her strong arms. They said that Blackwall came to help quite a bit, until Vivienne drove him of with frequent, if harmless, jabs at his person. Some of the people in Skyhold still looked askance at the reformed killer.

Astlyr also checked in on Dirthamen, Fen and Ghilan'nain. Dirthamen seemed to take to every new situation as though born to it. Ghilan'nain had much more difficulty and she seemed extremely pleased that Fen was back. Astlyr felt a bit guilty for taking him on their quest and leaving the goddess alone without language or a guide, but without Fen's efforts they would certainly have been in hot water, or possibly dead and buried like the bones under the sand that Cole had described.

The sun was setting behind the mountains as Astlyr mounted the wall steps to Cullen's office. She could hear his voice through the wooden door, commanding and sure. There were other voices. His lieutenants, she guessed. They were a friendly enough bunch, seldom causing a fuss or getting over-drunk at the tavern. Astlyr opened the door. Stepping into the warmth of the room she leaned herself against the doorframe, careful to cock her hip just so, to accentuate her long lines. The men stopped speaking as she entered looking up at her. “Inquisitor,” they threw various salutes.

“As you were,” she urged them, all the while shooting Cullen a look that she fervently hoped was sultry. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Was it her, or did Cullen actually pull a double take? She knew she wasn't seeing things as she watched his eyes travel down her body, hungrily. “We're finished, actually,” he said, pushing himself up from his desk and giving all his men a look that could not be mistaken by even the most foolhardy.

“Good,” Astlyr crossed the room, swaying her hips just that extra bit as she went, hoping she wouldn't trip part way. She reached Cullen before all the men had left the room. One lingered, papers still in hand, uncertain. Astlyr smiled at him, then grabbed the front of Cullen's ornamental armor of office and jerked him to her, “if you wouldn't mind, I need this man to tear all my clothes off.”

The lieutenant fled like a frightened rabbit. Cullen wrapped his arms around her waist, “I really wish you wouldn't do that to people.”

“Do you?” she kissed him, ending with a bite to his lower lip.

He was blushing again, but that was hardly unusual. Astlyr took charge this time, pressing him back against the wall, working the buckles of his breastplate loose she sent it to the floor with a rattling 'clank' and pulled his shirt up, sliding her hands over his bare chest beneath. She hesitated, leaning back from his lips, watching his eyes, “is this alright? Me being aggressive like this?” She didn't want to bring up any dark memories. Not now, or ever.

Cullen considered for the barest moment only, “No. This is good. I trust you, Astlyr. I know you won't hurt me.”

“I never will,” she said, locking her lips with his, resuming her exploration of his chest, then other portions of him. She stripped him ferociously and even kissed him leaned back across the desk where he had once laid her. She was careful to gauge his mood, sensitive for signs she was going too far. To her surprise he truly did enjoy her actions. What happened next was the strangest and most glorious feeling. It came over her like a wave. It felt kin to blood rage, but different in all the best ways. She had never felt anything like it with any of her other lovers. A wild, animal rush that made her feel free and wonderful and perfectly present with her man. They didn't make it up to the bed until long after they had finished.

~~~~~~

Astlyr slept tumbled together with Cullen as though someone had discarded them both onto the bed. In truth they were so exhausted from their evening of enjoyment that they had barely been able to climb the ladder to Cullen's loft. The two had collapsed onto the matress and fallen asleep almost at once; a tangle of limbs. Somehow they had found one another's hands and clasped them warmly as sleep took them both.

When Astlyr woke she was alarmed. The room was still dark, but as she reached for Cullen her hand found nothing but empty mattress beside her. She raised her head and looked for him, only then realizing that she was dressed, though not in her usual tunic and leggings, but the strange attire she knew meant... “The Fade?” she said aloud, looking around the dimly lit room. There were hints of greenish magic clinging to the corners and shimmering from the candles instead of flames. The room looked relatively similar to Cullen's actual quarters, but everything was canted slightly to the left and a few of his drinking glasses seemed to have made a bid for freedom and were hovering near the roof-beams like trapped birds.

“Fen?” Astlyr questioned, sliding free of the bed, which she noticed as no longer terribly symmetrical. “Cole?”

No one answered her. She moved towards the window across the loft from Cullen's bed. Her hand prickled and she glanced down at it, noting the small flicker of green. It felt as though the mark was merely waking up. Having a little stretch. It didn't stab or pulse with energy, but occasionally sparked, as though greeting her. Then something caught her attention outside. Down in the courtyard, which was draped in pale green with the hue of the Fade moon, she saw two figures walking. She blinked. Had It been two large animals, side by side? Now they were clearly men, striding along. She caught a flash of red hair. Fen was here after all, but not for her. She almost called out, but stopped herself. Instead she managed to climb down the ladder to the Fade version of Cullen's office. All of his books had removed themselves from his shelves and had formed some sort of fort, like a child's, in the corner.

Astlyr did not take time to wonder at this as she opened the door and stepped out onto the wall. Her body had braced unconsciously for a gush of icy wind, but the air was still and silent. A few snowflakes did drift past her face, but they moved more like fireflies than snow. She caught sight of the two forms again. This time definitely animals. The wolf she knew, and what looked to be a bear judging by the hulking shape. Fen'Harel and Dirthamen, traveling the Fade together and seemingly bound for the temple.

Astlyr felt her hand prick again, as if reminding her that the anchor was still there. She ignored it, treading carefully down the wall steps, watchful of the two shapes. Was it possible they did not notice her yet? She gritted her teeth in annoyance. Why hadn't she thought of this? They could guard these gods all they liked in the other world, but how would they keep tabs on them in the Fade? Perhaps it was up to her. She wished she knew whether they were aware of her or not. How could they not be? But then, they were conversing furtively with one another and moving with purpose away from her. Perhaps their intent was overwhelming their caution. Perhaps they had no idea that she could be drawn into their shared dream. She shot a look at her hand where the anchor rested. Maybe this have had something to do with her mark?

' I wish I was stealthier,' she thought darkly as she lingered in the wavering wall shadow. The pair were moving out of her sight towards the stables and the door down to the elven temple. Her hand stung again, more aggressively this time, and she almost gasped. She shook her hand as though she had burned it, feeling highly annoyed.

“I can help you,” a small, very soft voice said.

Astlyr jumped, then looked around. A white wisp hovered over to her, not much larger than the head of a dandelion. It bobbed around her for a moment as though considering; if a fluff could consider. Then it landed on the greenish snow beside her and transformed into a white rabbit with black tipped ears. It tilted its head, looking up at Astlyr with eyes the color of dark river stones. “You...who are you?” Astlyr managed. She surmised it was not a demon, at least like any demon she had ever seen.

“I am the spirit of Subtlety,” said the rabbit, blinking slowly and twitching an ear around to listen to Fen and Dirthamen, who had almost reached the entrance to the temple.

“Subtlety? Interesting.” she pondered this, eying the rabbit. If it was a demon it would no doubt start making deals or demands in a few moments, she reasoned. Instead the rabbit wiggled its nose and watched her expectantly. “Er...why are you here?”

“You called me,” the rabbit's voice was so quiet that Astlyr had trouble hearing it at all.

“I did?”

“With that,” the rabbit nodded towards her hand, which was still faintly alight with green.

“I can do that?”

“Of course,” the rabbit said, in a tone which implied he thought she was a little thick. It scratched an ear with a long hind foot then sat up on its haunches, “What is it you required of me, Lady?” Its voice was respectful, like a servant or soldier.

“Er...can you help me keep up with those two men, only not let them see me?”

“A tall order,” the spirit confided, hopping around her, considering. “I believe I can. You are lucky it is I who heard your call, and not one of my lesser brothers and sisters.” it announced, looking a pleased, for a rabbit. “It will be a challenge to hide your glow,” he nodded towards her hand again, “but the ones you seek to follow are not truly spirits, so they do not feel your call as I do. I should be able to hide you from their sight.”

“I'm just happy you're not a demon,” Astlyr confided.

“A what?” the rabbit asked, tilting its head and sitting up again.

“A bad spirit?” Astlyr tried. The rabbit still looked puzzled. She sighed, “I take it you have never been outside the Fade, little friend?”

“Oh no,” the rabbit shook its head and its long ears waggled. “Sometimes I hear the call for Subtlety and am tempted, but I never answer. The world outside doesn't want me. Not really. They seek my aid to hide so they might steal, or even kill. To trick others.” It seemed so certain that Astlyr did not bother to argue. “One such as I would be crushed in the other world,” it continued with a hint of distaste in its voice. “Shall we go?”

“Yes,” Astlyr agreed, following her new friend as it began to hop across the courtyard. Astlyr followed as best she could. Several times she lost sight of the little creature. A white rabbit against the white snow. It melted into the shadows and blended into the stones, almost becoming one with each. Idly curious she asked, “were you near Skyhold when I 'called' you?”

“Near where?” the rabbit asked, suddenly beside her.

She sighed and remembered Cole's words. 'We're in the Fade'. Time and distance had little meaning here, especially to a denizen. She wondered if the rabbit was truly hiding in the shadows, or if it manipulated those shadows to fold over it like a blanket. Could it to the same for her? She hoped so, because she felt about as far from being subtle as one could get. The rabbit little seemed to notice as it led her to the stairs which stretched into the darkness of the temple below. She could already hear voices echoing inside.

Carefully, placing each foot with caution, though she had no way of knowing if this was necessary or not, she moved down the steps, the rabbit ahead of her, then gone, then at her side. He did not teleport, as Cole might, but melted into the darkness or light around him as if he were one with it.

Asltyr reached the bottom of the stairs and was met with a great strand of shining spider silk. She could see the beautiful temple illuminated by the light of the Fade, which came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The entire place was intricately interlaced with the long strands of the golden spider's webs, still holding little pockets of magic like dew drops in a morning mist. Astlyr swallowed. She could make out the spider spirit across the room, perched in her web. Below her stood Dirthamen and Fen'Harel, in elvhen form once more. Astlyr could see Dirthamen well enough to make out dark skin, considerably darker than that of his new host, and a tall, elegant bearing. He carried himself like a prince. His black hair was drawn back in long dreadlocks which he wore tied with a leather string at the nape of his neck.

The two elves were deep in conversation with the spider. Astlyr felt that she stuck out like a sore thumb, standing just on the other side of the room from them and all, yet none seemed to take any notice of her. This may have been the first time in her life that she went unnoticed. She realized that she rather liked it. So this was what people who weren't huge and didn't have giant horns sticking out of their heads could feel like?

“Come,” Subtlety urged, dancing nimbly through the lattice of webs, carefully avoiding each strand.

“I'm not certain I can,” Astlyr whispered, keeping her eyes on the little gathering across the room. No one looked up at the sound of her voice. Novelty after novelty.

“Do not touch the strands,” Subtlety turned, nose twitching, whiskers spread, “or even I will not be able to hide you.”

Astlyr bit down on her lip as she carefully inched forward, step after well placed step. The rabbit bounded around her, indicating the best spots to place her feet, looking up just in time to warn her when a horn might tickle a strand. This dance kept her mind completely busy. For all she knew the two gods could have noticed her and were now staring directly at her. The low rumble of their voices kept her fairly secure in the knowledge that they had not spotted her yet.

Finally she was near enough to hear them, but still well back, hunching in the shadows that Subtlety wove expertly over her. It did seem an effort for him to keep her unnoticed, so she did her best to make herself small. Were she not in the Fade she would have grown quite sore from the position she was forced to squat in. The rabbit hopped around her, keeping up its concealing powers as she watched the two elves.

Dirthamen was conversing with the spider spirit. He reached up a hand to her and she moved gracefully down to touch his outstretched fingers with an elegant limb. There was a flash of soft, blue light where spirit met god, and then the spider withdrew, moving about her web experimentally plucking a thread here and there. She joined two threads in one spot, then linked two more with a new thread between them.

Fen'Harel watched, an odd expression on his face that Astlyr couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was because she was not as used to the form he liked to take in the Fade. She got a better look at Dirthamen as he watched the spider, a placid smile on his dark features. He his a trim, black beard which accentuated a square jaw, and the same, dark, fathomless eyes. He wore what seemed like a variation on the modern desert attire that Astlyr and company had endured in their travels in The Western Approach. She wondered if he was one of the elves that Cole had mentioned. One of those who lived in the sands rather than the vibrant forests. She pondered why the Dalish no longer dwelt there, preferring the Fereldan side of the Frostbacks.

“Are you certain you gave her enough?” Fen asked. His posture suggested tension and uncertainty. So different from the cocky bravdo he had shown the last time Astlyr had been with him in the Fade.

“Of course. I gave her exactly the right amount. She's tying the memory in with the others she holds. She is the history of Skyhold. This place and all its peoples through all time. I was able to give her a recollection from another place. Somewhere which I hope you will recognize once you see it, friend. I cannot believe Mythal would take so much from you.”

“She wanted me to forget this. I am uncertain why,” Fen'Harel muttered. “It is endlessly frustrating to know what I am, but I be unable to remember how I became so.”

“Never fear,” Dirthamen clapped Fen'Harel on the shoulder, smiling a very white smile. He had a pleasant, kind face. The face of one who laughed often, Astlyr decided. His mouth quirked easily into a natural grin and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “As soon as she finishes weaving the memories together you shall have your answers.”

Fen seemed satisfied and the two stood waiting, watching the golden spirit weave. Once or twice Astlyr felt certain the spider's many dark eyes fixed on her, but just as quickly dismissed the notion as nerves. Finally the spirit lowered herself, giving her handiwork one final look she reached out with the delicate care of one touching a strand of spun glass, and plucked a string. Astlyr felt a disorienting sensation as the world around her shifted, the way it had when she and Cole and learned of Spirit Companions. Little Subtlety did not even seem to notice. It wove its power around her, even as everything swam and spun, blending her into impossible background before things settled again on a new locale.

Astlyr inhaled a gasp of surprise as she and the two gods were faced with a scene playing out in a small, cozy looking room. Fen'Harel stared at the memory version of himself, as did Dirthamen. In this recalculation both gods looked younger, but very clearly themselves. The memory of Fen'Harel perched on the arm of a lavish chair and Dirthamen paced, arms folded across his chest.

Also in the room, giving the place a feeling of crowded companionship, sat a tall, elegant woman with long hair as black as pitch and another elf with dark skin who looked very like Dirthamen. A slender woman with close cropped, nutmeg brown hair also took to perching on the arm of a chair beside the black haired woman. She was dressed for hunting with skins and furs adorning her willowy frame, an elegant longbow across her body from shoulder to hip.

Another woman sat near the hearth, coaxing it to life with obvious magical gift. She was shorter, more plump than the others, but there was a clever, even dangerous glint in her eyes. The sort of woman who would make you a meal, but also keep a dagger in her boot just in case you found fault with her cooking. The final inhabitant of the room was broader than his fellows, with muscular arms that Astlyr was surprised to see on an elf. Everyone else was so wispy and ethereal. Even the mage beside the fire seemed as though she might drift away like a dandelion fluff at a moment's notice. This last man looked like it would take a qunari to shift him if he didn't care to move. He had seated himself on a wooden chair beside a dark-wood table which took up a goodly portion of the middle of the room.

Astlyr watched the strangers move about, or sit contemplatively. A feeling of sorrow prevailed amongst them. Eyes were down turned and no one seemed eager to speak. Astlyr rocked back slightly on her heels, “Makers balls...” she breathed to Subtlety. “Are these the elven gods?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, two Firefly quotes in one chapter? Hot damn!
> 
> Ooooo, sexy times. Oh yeah. Plus a brand new, sexy version of the blood rage. Mmmmhmmm.
> 
> And then, holy crap elvhen gods. What will happen next? What new discoveries? You'll just have to wait and see!
> 
> Next: 7/23/15
> 
> Stay updated and see book review right here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	34. Of Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting earlier today to make up for the late post last week :D
> 
> Ok guys. This is your official warning. In this chapter I finally give you all my own lore. My own ideas of the story. I, like Astlyr, rip open the veil, but in my case it's the lore instead of the Fade. Will you like what comes out? Who knows. This chapter is one of the main reasons I wrote this fanfiction/book at all. It only took us half a year to get here.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it! *crosses fingers*

Part 34  
Of Gods

“Who are they?” Astlyr turned insistently to the rabbit spirit, who looked up at her as though regretting its decision to come when she 'called'. It hesitated in its hopping around her and tilted its head, as though thinking. “There are memories of names flowing through the area,” it finally reported. It squinted at the men and women in the room, “The one with black hair and seated in the chair...Mythal. Dirthamen and Falon'Din, the two with faces the color of good earth. The huntress is named Andruil, I think, which must mean the one beside the fire is Sylaise.”

“What about muscles?”

“June or Fen'Harel,” the rabbit wrinkled his nose, which was actually quite adorable.

“Must be June because I know that one-” she gestured towards the slim, red haired man, “is Fen'Harel.”

“See, you know about these things,” the spirit encouraged cheerily, returning to hopping around her, weaving the shadows over her like a cloak. She tried to ignore its constant motion as she watched the elves. She glanced at her Fen'Harel and Dirthamen, standing to the side. Her version of Fen looked tense, decidedly uneasy.

“Do you remember this day?” Dirthamen asked Fen.

Fen's brows knit with concentration, “someone has...someone has died?”

“Yes,” Dirthamen said, giving his friend a sad smile. “Her name was Sulis. She died and-”

“And so did Fairness,” Fen'Harel tilted his head like an animal trying to understand. “Who was Fairness?”

“Sulis' Spirit Companion. You don't remember?”

“How...how did they die?”

“In an experiment.”

Another person had entered the Fade room. This new man cut quite a figure. Upright, proud and lethal looking. He wore elegant battle garb. Twin, curved daggers hung at his shoulder blades, and he carried a mage's staff loosely in his hand. His hair was brown and immaculately trimmed. This man would give Dorian a run for his money in the personal grooming department. Like all the others he bore a pair of pointed, elvish ears. He hesitated in the doorway, taking in the sad, dejected faces waiting for him. He clucked his tongue, “What is this? Look at you all? Giving up after one setback?”

“Sulis and Fairness are not a 'setback'” snapped Sylaise, rising from her place beside the fire. Her eyes glinted dangerously. “It could have just as easily been any of us and our Companions.”

“Sulis knew the risks and she volunteered,” the newcomer spoke in a voice that was soothing with just the barest hint of a patronizing tone. His smile teetered dangerously close to a sneer, but stopped short. “Come now. Tell me we're not giving up?”

“We're not all going to die two by two until we figure this out,” June stated, folding powerful arms.

Mythal reached up and placed a gentle hand on the newcomer’s arm, “the magic was just too wild, love. Even our staves could not focus it. No amount of trying is going to remove that danger from the equation.”

“Her love?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. This seemed to imply that the elegant man was Elgar-nan himself.

“Would you hush?!” Subtlety scolded, waggling long ears in annoyance.

Astlyr gave the rabbit spirit an apologetic smile and turned back to the scene at hand.

“So what do you suggest?” Elgar-nan looked to the group expectantly, his dark eyes scrutinizing. No one answered him. “Come now! I gathered you all because I knew you to be intelligent, undauntable. You are the best, and I expected more.”

“Did you expect us to give our lives?” asked Sylaise shrewdly. “What about our Companions? Is it alright to sacrifice them for your cause?”

“Our cause,” Elgar'nan corrected her firmly. “Or is it so easy to make you change your mind? You wanted this as much as I did. You all want it. To walk in the Fade without fear? To manipulate it the way the spirits do? To enter the Fade even when the veil is not thin or torn? You all wanted this!”

“We still do, father,” the young huntress stood, adjusting the bow across her shoulders. “They're upset right now. Give them time. They all need time to think, at the very least. I'm going to meet with Vigilance. She may be able to help me sort through all my thoughts and come up with an idea.” The woman moved towards the door of the cozy room. Astlyr realized that they must, in fact, be inside a cabin. A well made, lavish cabin to be sure, but when Andruil opened the door it led to a porch, and beyond that, woodlands.

Andruil gave the group a quick smile and bow of her head before departing. “May we all go?” asked Fen'Harel, fixing shrewd, intelligent eyes on the would-be god-king. “Or is that only a courtesy afforded to your offspring.”

“Curb your tongue, Wolf,” Elgar'nan said, his lip twisted in obvious disdain. A few of the other 'gods' glanced at Fen'Harel but guarded their feelings with their school expressions. None the less it seemed obvious to Astlyr that Fen'Harel was the favorite of few in the room.

“Wolf?” Fen'Harel smirked, “You haven't called me that in a good while. I thought we were past insulting nicknames,” he looked ready to unleash his own volley of cruel designations for the man, but Dirthamen interceded.

“Fen'Harel and I will go as well. You know how he gets when he's cooped up. He thinks better on his feet.” Dirthamen gave Fen'Harel a warning glare, ushering him from the chair arm with as much grace as he could manage, “come friend,” he said tightly, “Let's go think outside.”

Fen'Harel allowed himself to be led out of the cabin, but shot a cheeky smile at the rest of the gathering before a door separated them. Astlyr felt a lurch as she was drawn from the cabin with the two elves without having to move her feet. She wondered if the Dirthamen from her time was controlling the memory, or if followed him automatically. She glanced towards the two men on her side of the past, standing out starkly against the green-tinted memory display. As though they were somehow nearer to her than the trees around her. She watched Fen. His face was impassive, and angled away from her slightly. She wasn't able to tell what he was thinking, but he did seem to be focusing a great deal on the actions of his former self and the past version of Dirthamen.

Astlyr marveled at the landscape around her. Huge ferns, vines the size of her arm, great trees taller than any she had ever seen. They all seemed to keep back, away from the clearing where the cabin stood, as if by conscious choice. Astlyr wondered if these ancient mages could communicate with the plants. Ask them not to overrun their living space. Distantly, and garbled by the Fade, unseen birds called out amongst the twining branches.

“Alright, alright, you can let go of me. I'm not going to set fire to the cabin,” past Fen'Harel was saying as he jerked his arm free of Dirthamen's grip. Both elves stepped gingerly down from the porch. Astlyr was not surprised to see that there was no sign of Andruil. The huntress had moved with such confidence and grace, even indoors, that Astlyr was certain she was long vanished into the deep and fathomless forest.

“Walk with me,” past Dirthamen urged, gesturing towards a path through the trees and mammoth undergrowth that Astlyr had not seen moments before.

The two men began to stroll and Astlyr was once again drawn with them as though she and her fellow Fade walkers were pulled by an invisible thread. She felt like one of those pull-along toy ducks she'd seen children playing with.

For a long moment neither man spoke. Fen'Harel walked with his arms folded, obviously still upset. His companion strode with an open, companionable posture, clearly pretending to be oblivious to his fellow mage's bad mood. “You can talk to me, you know,” Dirthamen said, after a time. “I'm good at keeping secrets.”

“You always have been,” Fen'Harel conceded. “My mind is too busy at the moment. I need to pare it down. Parse out what my thoughts are and where they live.”

“Are you thinking you want out? You were always the most dubious of the plan, though I know it intrigues you. Gets your curiosity going.”

“That, and he likes to think he's smart. Smarter than all the others, even,” a youthful female voice came from a nearby tree. Suddenly, with a puff of greenish smoke, what looked to be a girl in her late teens was striding beside Fen'Harel. She moved with an odd gate, half skipping half walking, and her face was the picture of mischief as she stuck her impish nose right up to Fen'Harels, “don't you?”

“Free Will, what have I told you again and again? I do not believe I am the smartest one here. I know I am,” Fen'Harel smirked, taking a swiping reach towards the girl. She ducked his hand easily, grinning. Her eyes were reddish in hue, and her hair was cut short and colored a startling sky blue.

“Well if you're such a smarty, why can't you puzzle this out, eh?” the girl asked.

“Free Will?” Astlyr glanced down at Subtlety. The words had been used like an address. A name. “A spirit?”

“Of course,” the rabbit said, pausing in its hopping to glance at the girl and the two men in the memory as though noticing them for the first time.

“Is she his Spirit Companion? She looks like she has a very solid form, but I thought his Companion was Wisdom. Are they in the Fade in this memory?” she questioned, watching the girl move around Fen'Harel with a distinct grace and ease, even with all her skipping and bouncing about. The Fade within the Fade? The notion made her head hurt.

“They're in the woods,” Subtlety shrugged rabbit shoulders.

“It's...her,” Astlyr's version of Fen'Harel was speaking now. He had moved closer to the memory people and was reaching out his hand. “It's her! I...I remember her! She's...she was...”

“She IS,” Dirthamen corrected, following Fen towards the images. The spider spirit seemed to have slowed the memory almost to a stop so that Fen could have a moment to look at the girl with wide, excited eyes.

“I never thought I'd see her again.”

“You don't need to,” Dirthamen sounded confused. “Here,” he drew Fen back from the figures and gave the spider a nod to start the memory moving again, “watch and remember, old friend.”

Past Fen'Harel was giving this spirit girl, 'Free Will' an exasperated look, “I've been trying to solve it. What do you think I've been doing?”

“Then why aren't you what you want to be? Why aren't we?” Free Will asked, wrinkling her small, upturned nose.

“I merely have not solved it yet,” he took another playful swing at her and she transformed into a wolf, easily avoiding his blow and wagging her tail. Her wolf form was grey, and its eyes were the same deadly red, though now they gleamed with mirth. “And you mock me as well?” Fen'Harel threw up his hands, looking to Dirthamen, “do you see what I am forced to deal with?”

The travelers finally came out of the thick forest path into a clearing. Once again all the foliage held back from the area as though too polite to intrude. Branches were turned away at odd angles and the grass was much shorter in the space. Several stones stood upright around a circle drawn in the grass with something white. Chalk perhaps. A summoning circle? Astlyr raised an eyebrow. Free Will broke off from the two men and bounded up to one of the stones. She transformed into a girl again and touched one with her hand. Instantly it lit up with a thousand intricate glyphs and symbols. She ran her slender fingertips over them and they brightened at her touch. If this girl was indeed a spirit, shouldn't she be afraid of this circle? Instead it seemed to calm her.

Another figure lurched up to join the group then. Dirthamen turned to greet the enormous grizzly that bounded up to him and almost butted him over in its eagerness to greet him. “Whoa! Steady now!” Dirthamen dug his fingers into the bear's thick coat and scratched vigorously.

Free Will made a disgusted sound as only a teenage girl could, with an expression of deep disinterest, “Loyalty is here too? Tch.”

“Of course she's here,” Dirthamen said. The bear 'Loyalty' rolled over for a belly rub. “She's my companion, and always will be.”

“That's a spirit too?” Astlyr asked, pointing to the gigantic carnivore whose tongue was lolling with pleasure.

“Aren't you supposed to know about spirits?” Subtlety questioned skeptically, motioning towards Astlyr's marked hand with its head.

“As far as I know this thing only gives me some power over the Fade, most of which I haven't figured out yet. It certainly did not imbue me with a set of directions,” Astlyr explained, looking at her hand. The anchor was dormant, once again resembling a poorly done tattoo. The thin outline of a rift.

The rabbit made an incredulous noise as though it suspected she was lying, and carried on with its concealing work. Astlyr turned her attention to the scene once more. Fen'Harel had seated himself with his back against one of the stones. The runes did not spring to bright life when he touched it. Free Will became a wolf again, and as much as she seemingly disdained the bear, Loyalty, she charged her and soon the pair of them were rolling around in a play wrestling match.

Dirthamen strolled over to join his fellow elf, and the two sat for a long moment, seemingly lost in their own thoughts as the spirits played. Finally, resting his hands in his lap in a meditative posture, Dirthamen asked, “How does Free Will feel about all this?”

“You know how she is, she is never afraid. Death doesn't intimidate her. Nothing does,” Fen'Harel struggled.

“I mean about the bonding. What we hope to achieve.”

“I like it,” Free Will called, obviously eavesdropping even as she wrestled. “If we could become more than Companions...if we could be one being, think how much more we could do! What we could explore! He could come with me into the Fade and we'd have all sorts of adventures,” Free Will placed a hindpaw against Loyalty's jaw as the bear tried to wrap massive limbs around the wolf's smaller frame. Free Will shot from the bear's grip like a cork from a bottle, then danced nimbly out of reach.

“Adventures in the Fade. That sounds dangerous,” smiled Dirthamen.

“As I said-” Fen'Harel absentmindedly plucked a small flower from the grass beside him. He waved his hand lazily over the plant and it seemed to spring to life at the touch of his magic. New roots grew from the stem and coiled around Fen'Harel's arm and the leaves grew wide and healthy looking. “Free Will does not know fear.”

“What about the possibility you will be able to control her?”

“He'll never control me,” the wolf scoffed as she darted in to bite the bear's thick neck fur. “Besides. The plan is that we'll be one being. If we're one, then I can control him just as well.”

Dirthamen chuckled. “I like your goals, Free Will. My brother seems to believe it will give him a better understanding of the dead. He hopes that, once the ritual is a success, he will be able to ascertain where souls go after the body is slain.”

“And you wish to know more secrets,” Fen'Harel nudged Dirthamen's shoulder with his own. “A true connection to the Fade could aid you greatly in this.” 

“We all have our dreams,” Dirthamen agreed. With a loud 'caw' a crow came appeared from the sky and landed on the stone above the two men. It shuffled back and forth, ruffling feathers back into place from its flight. Astlyr wondered aloud if this bird was a spirit as well. Subtlety cocked an eye at her, “Of course not. That's just a crow.”

“Oh,” Astlyr said, feeling stupid and not really knowing why. How was she supposed to tell what was what in this absurd memory?

The crow squawked and flapped down to the grass, blinking yellow eyes at Dirthamen. It gently set something on the ground beside him, then looked about itself again, taking in the wrestling wolf and bear with obvious disdain. “Well then, Fear, what have you brought me this time?' Dirthamen asked of the bird, picking up the offering. “Fear and his brother are always bringing me little gifts of shiny objects they find,” Dirthamen explained, holding up the item for Fen'Harel to see.

“That's because they believe you to be their mother,” Fen'Harel pointed out, taking the item and turning it over in his hand. He sat forward slightly, examining the gift more closely. “There is residual Fade magic on this. He must have found it somewhere where the veil was very thin.”

Dirthamen sighed, stroking the bird's back absently. “I wish they wouldn't do that, but I think all the best shiny objects are found in such places. The fade magic makes them even more enticing to these greedy beaks,” he scratched the bird under its chin with a finger. “In the desert there are many places where the veil is so thin that you can reach right through and shake hands with a spirit. I worry one day one of my birds is going to find his way in there and then they'll be in real trouble. Nothing but beak and talons for protection.”

Fen'Harel only seemed to be half listening to the other man. He was still scrutinizing the object, his blue eyes suddenly lit up like the runes when Free Will had touched them. The scene paused again and Astlyr's attention was drawn back to the two men from her own world.

Her Fen was clearly in more distress now. His face was drawn and tight, his brows furrowed low, his mouth a hard line. Dirthamen was watching him with a concerned, yet eager expression. “Are you remembering? Do you recall this moment?”

“It...it is like looking through a depth of water,” Fen said, so quietly Astlyr almost didn't hear.

“Do you remember what we were trying to do? To achieve?”

“Elgar'nan...” Fen brought a hand to his temple, obviously struggling, “he was the one to desire it first. A deeper connection with the Fade? More ability and control. Wasn't it?”

“Right,” Dirthamen confirmed. “A way to allow us to enter the Fade, even where the veil was not thin, and to keep us safe while we were there, mentally and physically.”

“He wished to travel the Fade physically,” Fen'Harel clarified, still tense. “He wanted to be a denizen of both worlds, as his Spirit Companion was. He sought us out, we who were also intrigued by the idea. Those who longed for a deeper Fade connection...who wished to be closer to our Companions than was ever conceived.”

“And we tried it. We attempted many things. The latest-”

“Killed our friends. Killed one of us and her Companion.”

“Yes,” said Dirthamen glumly. “Sulis.”

“But we were close,” Fen seemed to have a jolt of recollection then, leaning forward with excitement. “We knew what we needed to do. We perfected the magics, we formed the circle, and yet...the magic was too wild. Too strong, even for us. So much Fade magic all at once.”

“Now do you remember when we are? What you are about to discover?” Dirthamen smiled.

“Yes! I think so! The pieces are falling back into place in my thoughts!” Fen cheered, gesturing for the spider spirit to start the memory once more. His expression had lost much of its tension and he no longer massaged his temple.

The memory of Fen'Harel was caressing the object the crow had brought with his thumb, gazing at it as though it were a precious jewel. From what Astlyr could see it looked like a little scrap of metal. “Yes. Fade magic clinging to the object... Dirthamen...I think I know what we require!”

“What's that?” past Dirthamen asked, eyes widening. The two Spirit Companions had stopped their play and teleported over to see what was being discussed.

The bear, Loyalty, pushed her thick muzzle in to sniff the object in Fen'Harel's hand. She sneezed, “Fade magic,” she grumbled.

“Yes! Fade magic! Over time it begins to stick. To sink in to certain objects of this world. As the veil grows thin where emotion is strong; a battlefield where the cries of the dying echo from one world to the next. Some have said that even the earth can become saturated with it, so no crops will grow.”

“What are you suggesting?” Dirthamen cocked a brow, “our staves can do the same thing. Collect and channel spells.”

“Not spells,” Fen'Harel held up the scrap, “wild magic. Fade magic, untamed and unchecked, directly from the Fade. What we've been dealing with! Something as simple as this little magic-drenched pip could hold and channel raw Fade magic for us?”

“This thing?” Dirthamen took the bit of metal back, scrutinizing it. He raised a hand, examining it with his own gift.

“And those of us who have no magic, but a strong bond with their Companions...this would be be like having a staff of their own!” Fen'Harel pressed on, his eyes wide with excitement. Free Will changed shape from a cat, to a wolf, to a dragonfly as she seemed to feed off of his eagerness. “A way to channel the magic without us having to do it for them! Haha!” he leaped up, grasping the hands of Free Will who had just changed back into a girl. The pair of them jigged around the clearing.

“I do not know,” Dirthamen said, watching their elated display with amusement on his dark features.

“We should at least bring the idea to the others,” Loyalty said in a low, slow voice of one who ponders much and says little.

“Yes,” Fen'Harel agreed, gesturing grandly, “and then HE can claim the credit for it, of course.”

“I'll know it was you,” Dirthamen pointed out. “I'll remind the others.”

“At this point I hardly care,” Fen'Harel said. He grasped Free Will at her waist and lifted her over his head for a moment. She squeaked with delight like a child, spreading long arms out, then becoming a crow herself and flapping over to annoy Fear, who was preening quietly nearby.

The memory halted, faltering and fading like an old painting left in the sun. Astlyr's Fen'Harel turned to Dirthamen, an eager expression on his face. “And it worked, didn't it?”

“Would you like to see?” Dirthamen was smiling his very white grin.

“Of course,” Fen said, eyes alight. “I do not recall much of that day either, but I suspect my plan must have worked, or you would not have shown me what you did. How I discovered...how I invented the foci.”

The scene before them changed again. Once more Astlyr took in the clearing with the strange circle, but this time all of the other gods were present. Each had another figure standing with them, some animal, some elvhen. Astlyr guessed without asking that these were the Spirit Companions of each 'god'. The men and women had arranged themselves, and their companions, around the circle, each clasping an object before them. Astlyr recognized Dirthamen's key dangling from a chain in his outstretched fist. Her brows went up when she saw what Fen'Harel held. The blackened jawbone of a wolf.

Elgar'nan moved amongst them, checking each in turn. Beside him stalked a large lizard, about the size of a dog. It stuck out a bluish tongue as it waddled along with strong, in-turned forepaws as its elven Companion ran a hand over each item in turn, obviously examining them with his magic. He nodded at each one. “Good. Very good. Ah, there's a great deal of Fade magic on this one,” he congratulated Mythal. She held out an amulet. By far the prettiest of the collection. Mythal's Spirit Companion leaned in to look. She had taken the form of an ordinary woman, save for the large, bat-like wings which sprouted from her shoulder blades.

“Thank you,” Mythal bowed her head slightly, smiling with perfectly formed lips. “Determination helped me find it. I wanted something perfect.”

Elgar'nan nodded sagely, striding to his daughter and taking in the hare's hindpaw on a string of leather she presented to him. He chuckled at her, “what a pity you do not share your mother's love for beautiful things,” he joked as he passed his hand over the object. Andruil's spirit companion had taken the shape of a hawk and perched on her shoulder, eyes keen and knowing. “Vigilance helped me with mine as well,” she said, with a sharp look in her eye which implied that the spirit, in hawk form, had likely been responsible for the death of the hare whose paw she now proffered to her father.

“Not as much Fade energy on this one, but I believe it will do.” Elgar'nan said, readying to move to the next in the circle, the burly June who held forth an elegantly forged sword which Astlyr was almost certain she recognized.

“You believe it will do?” Mythal stopped him with her curt words. “No, my husband. Be certain. Do not risk our daughter because you believe it is enough.”

Elgar'nan paused, giving the woman a soft, placating look. “Never fear. It has much Fade magic all through it. Andruil will be alright. Remember, wife, that this is new ground we tread. If we fear and falter now it will all be for naught.”

Mythal did not look pleased, but she settled as her man moved on to each in turn, checking over their foci, his Spirit Companion stumping behind him, a bit broodily. Astlyr watched all this with wide eyes. “I knew it! I mean, I didn't know it, know it,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone, though the rabbit cocked an ear as it worked. “You weren't born from the sun, you 'gods'. You didn't walk out of a sea of tears, or whatever other nonsense the story tellers say. You were people. Just people.” These men and women before her were no otherworldly, spiritual beings. Rather a bunch of overly intelligent elves with inflated opinions of themselves and a plan. Always beware people with egos and a plan, she thought darkly.

“Would you hush?” the rabbit hissed.

Astlyr winced, quieting herself. She had been growing used to being unseen and she forgot that someone was working hard to keep her that way. She mouthed 'I'm sorry' to the spirit. It merely flipped its tail at her, in what she guessed to be a rude gesture, and carried on with what it was doing.

Elgar'nan had finished his scrutiny of each object and seemed satisfied. Then he produced, from a bag at his hip, an item which Astlyr knew well. The orb of power. She caught herself grinding her teeth at the sight of the thing. She forced herself to settle, watching.

“I have chosen a dreamer's orb for my own item,” Elgar'nan announced. He turned in place, surveying his circle one more time. “Are we all prepared?” 

“We are,” the rest chorused as though this had been rehearsed. June began to step forward, his Companion, in the form of a well muscled woman, moved to follow him towards the center of the circle.

Elgar'nan stopped June with a raised hand. “No. Friend. I cannot ask you to take this risk. I will be the first to attempt this.” Mythal and Andruil looked ready to cry foul but Elgar'nan fixed them both with such a steely glare that they fell silent. No one else seemed eager to oppose him.

“What about me?” Fen'Harel asked, moving into the circle, wolf spirit trailing with tail tucked uncertainly.

“You?” Elgar'nan was obviously trying to conceal disgust at the notion.

“Why not?” Fen'Harel asked, facing the his fellow and matching him look for look. Glare for glare. “I am the least liked out of all of us, you must all admit that. I am the one who discovered the foci. Let me be the one to take the risk.”

Elgar'nan seemed to weigh this. His obvious desire to be the first warring with a need to see Fen'Harel put in his place should things go sour. Free Will bristled her fur as the lizard eyed her darkly. “Very well,” the leader finally agreed, waving his hands dismissively as though his going first had been but a moment's whim.

Elgar'nan moved to stand in Fen'Harel's place in the circle leaving the red headed man in the middle. Free Will became a young woman again, standing nervously beside her Companion. He looked to her, “are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said with a fearless, determined tone, raising her chin in a posture which Astlyr recognized. In her time she had seen Solas stand so. And then again in the desert, when Fen'Harel had prepared for battle. A cocky, dominant pose which made the corners of Astlyr's mouth twitch up in a smile as she watched.

“Alright,” Elgar'nan said, once again loud and in charge. “Let us begin!”

The mages of the group began to spin their spells. Astlyr could almost feel the draw of all their combined magics. They were tearing at the veil as young child might try to cut a bit of paper. It was ugly and clumsy and it made Astlyr wince. She wished she could stride over and open a rift for them right them so they would stop poking little holes. Fade magic bled through, dripping and oozing as from a wound. Once it slithered into their world it came alive, suddenly springing across hands, staves and stones like jumping electricity. Several of the 'gods' flinched and winced as the magic found them. At first it spread everywhere, lancing off into the forest, grasping hungrily at the obviously frightened Spirit Companions. Then, slowly, very slowly, Astlyr could see it gathering. It was drawn towards Fen'Harel, who was clasping the wolf jawbone in hands that looked too stiff to release it. Astlyr could not tell if the other mages were channeling it towards him, or if they could only do their best to keep it from crashing into them.

Fen'Harel's face was washed with green fadelight as the writhing magic was drawn to his foci. She saw him biting his lip so hard a small trickle of blood ran down his chin. Every part of him seemed locked as the magic surged and bucked around him like a wild animal. Free Will gave a strangled sound which was part scream, part gasp. She seemed to be struggling against the pull of the orb herself. Her form wavered, rippling, but she made no attempt to leave Fen'Harel's side.

“When you feel you have enough power-” Elgar'nan shouted. Astlyr realized that he had to yell. A sound like a terrible wind had filled the clearing and he could barely be heard above it.

Fen'Harel hesitated, still clasping the jaw bone as though if he let go he would certainly die, and for all Astlyr knew, that was exactly what would happen. Then he tore one hand free from the foci and grasped that of Free Will. At first she looked terrified, as though she might pull away. Then a calm, understanding expression came over her sharp, small features. She turned, still holding Fen'Harel hand, and moved towards him, as if for a hug. Instead of putting his arms around the youth, Astlyr watched with open eyes and jaw agape, as Free Will and Fen'Harel seemed to step into one another.

There was another sound of rising wind, almost like the desperate howl of a wolf, and for a moment both man and spirit were shrouded in a thick cloud of smoke, which writhed with green sparks of Fade magic. Astlyr heard someone in the circle cry out, but no one moved to break it. The mages were busy as it was, keeping the Fade magic from attacking their non-magical fellows, and themselves. Then the smoke dissipated, so quickly it reminded Astlyr of Cole teleporting.

Where two had stood now one remained. A red haired man clasping a wolf jawbone. The mages stopped their spells, the Fade knitting itself neatly back together around them. They had not ripped the veil so wide that it would stay. Fen'Harel blinked, blue eyes for a long moment unseeing. His face was wan, his hands shook. “I can...I can hear her! No. That is wrong. I can't hear her, she's speaking now. She is my voice...she is my thoughts. She's...me.”

Elgar'nan was the first to step towards his friend, tentative, “she's hasn't just joined with you, as some spirits do? Free Will? Are you in there? Can I speak with you?”

Fen'Harel's brows knit together as he seemed deep in concentration. “No. She's here...we're here. Both and one.” Then he transformed into a wolf. A black wolf with bright blue eyes. Everyone in the clearing gasped. It was abundantly clear that Fen'Harel had never done this before. “Her will...my will...her thoughts are the same as mine. She's thinking with me...for me? Right now. I can hear her and myself speaking these words.” The wolf turned around and around, as though seeing the clearing for the first time. As though trying to see itself fully.

Astlyr heard another sound. Her head snapped around to look at her version Fen'Harel and Dirthamen. Fen had collapsed to his knees, arms about himself. “I thought I'd lost her! Mythal took her memory from me and I thought I'd lost her, but I can't because she's me!”

Dirthamen placed a gentle hand on Fen's back, “she is. Just as Loyalty is me, and I her. With the aid of the foci we had done it. We had become another being. A new race that had never before, nor has it since, walked the world. Until your reawakening.”

“I can feel the Fade!” Memory Fen'Harel was saying, breathlessly. “We could step into it now if I wished.” He kept changing from plural to singular as he referred to himself.

Elgar'nan was eager for his turn. He moved Fen'Harel back to his space in the circle. Everyone was watching him with concern. Dirthamen momentarily broke the circle to check on his friend. “It's wonderful, Dirthamen!” Fen'Harel said. “It is truly what we have sought!”

“Could you...could you pull apart from her?” Dirthamen questioned, turning his back to Elgar'nan who was already taking his spot in the center, a wild eagerness on his handsome features.

“I...we could, perhaps” Fen'Harel's brows furrowed. “If we wished it, but with each moment I feel her becoming more me. Or me becoming more her. Solid. Complete. If we pulled apart now, we don't think we could come back together”

“Is everyone able to go on?” Elgar'nan asked the group, his eyes alight.

They all seemed willing, perhaps even excited to try more. Astlyr suspected most of them were already eagerly anticipating their turn. Once again the mages tore clumsily into the fade. Astlyr wondered what its denizens must be thinking as more magic seeped out and slowly began to collect in the orb Elgar'nan held. When Fen'Harel added his own magic into the mix, it was far from the haphazard work of the others. Instead he made elegant openings, coaxing the Fade magic out in manageable amounts. He even guided it to the Orb without much thought. Astlyr was impressed. She may have mocked the others before, but she knew she could never manage what Fen'Harel was doing. Her expertise was limited to opening and closing rifts, and apparently to calling helpful spirits. She caught little glimpses of Subtlety still working beside her. Fen'Harel showed mastery.

Elgar'nan's Spirit Companion took its turn to join with its counterpart and once again only one figure remained in the center of the circle. Elgar'nan let the orb fall from his hands into the grass, a huge smile splitting his face. “Yes!” he roared with exuberance. “I can feel it...him...us! The Fade is so close, I can almost-” he reached out, then took a step, vanishing from view. Had he just stepped into the Fade? No tear, no fuss, just gone? Moments later he reappeared the same look of raw elation on his features. He turned to his comrades, “Do you know what this means?! We are a new force in this world! We will have a power that no one else possesses! We could be...we can be, gods!”

One by one, as Astlyr watched, each 'god' performed the ritual. It became steadily easier as each bonded with their Spirit Companion and was able to have great control over the wild Fade magics. By the end there was no mess at all. Not one stray strand got loose. Each god tried out new forms and stretched new muscles. Elgar'nan transformed into a gigantic creature that Astlyr recognized with a grimace. It was the beast she and her company had faced when Mythal, clothed in Solas' form, had tricked them into freeing the god. She swallowed hard. Even in the memory he looked close enough to touch. Real enough to crush her on a whim.

Mythal became a dragon, swooping on massive wings. Andruil an enormous, steel feathered falcon. Fen'Harel even tried another form. A huge creature the color of oil. It was only vaguely canine in shape, with many red eyes like blood droplets on its sleek face. This was the Dread Wolf. This was the creature people feared, and she could see why. Its body, though hulking, moved with the slithering grace of smoke, sliding in and out of the shade of trees, the shadows of his friends. Astlyr suddenly felt glad that she had not seen this creature in the desert after all. Once it even turned its long, powerful head towards her and she could have sworn all those ruby eyes were locked on her, before it moved on.

She tore her gaze from the god-creatures and looked to her own version of Fen'Harel. So small, so deflated compared to the one in the memory, who was already coming into his own with his new powers. She knew what happened next. No one needed to show her those memories. These people, these beings, became the gods that the elvhen worshiped. It must have been slow at first. Gaining a few followers here and there, but by the end they had amassed armies. Did any of them even remember this moment? Well, Dirthamen did because the spirits of the Fade likely reminded him, but did Mythal recall that she had once been a woman with a loyal Spirit Companion? Did cruel June know the man before the ritual?

Certainly Fen'Harel had recalled enough to know that something was missing. That Mythal had robbed him of some part of his past. Perhaps he had been more willing to hold on to a time before he was deified, which was why he was never quite like the others. Never asking for people to fight and die on his behalf. She couldn't be certain, but she watched her Fen'Harel's face. Those eyes. The ones she had come to know and trust, however foolishly. He was still taking in the scene before him, silent and still.

“This is how we are able to take on the bodies of new hosts,” Fen said, eyes alight as he watched the freshly made gods frolic and test new powers. “I remembered that we could, naturally, and that the host must be willing. It was a puzzle that vexed me, and I knew that once I must have understood how it came to be so.”

“Because of the joining we are closer to being spirits than many of us would care to admit,” Dirthamen explained, his voice held the steady rhythm of a story teller. “With the aid of our foci to channel the unpredictable Fade magic our essence, like spirits, can enter the body of a willing host. However, because we are more than spirit, because we are two souls in one, we are unable to share the form.”

“We drive the old consciousness out,” Fen affirmed, sadly.

Astlyr pondered this. With the purported longevity of ancient elves this ability to body swap in a crisis, coupled with the power to place part of their soul into an object, they would have seemed all the more god-like, even to themselves. Small wonder they had begun to believe they stood above all those around them.

Fen changed form, taking on the shape Astlyr knew best. A young man with curly brown hair and an elfy nose. “One of The People gave up his life for mine,” Fen said, reaching up and running slim fingers over his jawline. “I had no way to thank him.”

“Do not waste his sacrifice,” Dirthamen advised kindly. “It is a rare thing indeed for one to give all of himself for another he has never met.”

“He understood,” Fen's voice was very quiet, his fingertips still resting against his skin. “Somehow he understood that if he gave his form to me that he would be lost forever,” he looked up at Dirthamen, “this Age is full of courage, my friend. Courage and good people. I believe it will suit you well.”

“Let's go,” Dirthamen took Fen's shoulders gently, as if to guide him away from this past. Astlyr glanced down at little Subtlety. He was still working hard to keep her concealed. She wondered that only Ghilan'nain had been allowed to become like these others. Why did no one else join them in their pantheon? Perhaps none else were found worthy. Perhaps only some Spirit Companions were strong enough.

The memory was fading, the spider had plucked the strand once more and they stood in the temple, surrounded by web and impossible pillars. “Can you sneak me out?” Astlyr questioned her new friend, knowing that Fen and Dirthamen would have to come her way to exit.

“Follow,” the rabbit said, simply. He began to guide her out again. Twice she almost twanged a thread. She had no idea what that would do, but she suspected nothing good. She could hear the low voices of the two men across the room, though she could not focus on what they were saying as she concentrated on making her way out of the temple.

Once she was finally outside she and Subtlety retreated to the shadow of a wall. Here in the Fade the shadow would not stay still, but the rabbit hopped around as though gathering it up and throwing it over her. She almost chuckled at his determination. “I think I can wake myself up now,” Astlyr said, letting her mind drift for a moment and feeling it tug towards wakefulness. “Thank you for your help, Subtlety,” she smiled down at the rabbit.

“You are welcome, Friend of Spirits,” Subtlety changed form into a wisp again, buzzing about her head, a little ball of hazy light. “You're certain you don't need me?”

“Yes. You can go do...whatever it is spirits do,” she smiled at the wisp.

It made a lilting chucking sound and vanished. It did not teleport as Cole would have, but seemed to fold itself into the Fade and disappear. She wasn't entirely certain it was truly gone, and not just hiding out, watching her, but she decided not to worry about it. She wanted to get out of there before Fen'Harel and Dirthamen came up out of the temple. She closed her eyes and let her mind clear. She felt the sensation of falling backwards and when her eyes opened again she was looking up at the ceiling of Cullen's tower room. She could hear the gentle breathing of her lover still asleep beside her. A few bright fingers of dawn were making their slow sojourn across the floor.

Astlyr blinked sleep from her eyes and draped a hand over her forehead in thought. She'd had an odd dream. Something about Fen'Harel and Dirthamen. Had it been the Fade? She usually remember Fade dreams much more clearly than this. She tried to blink the cobwebs from her mind. Why on earth did she get the strong impression there had been a rabbit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Holy hell. What did everyone think? New head-canon, or "burn it! Burn it with fire"? Hahaha. And we are so not done yet! Though the story maybe drawing near the end, it is far from over! I hope you will all continue to journey with me!
> 
> I had you all fooled didn't I? You all thought Wisdom was going to be Fen's Spirit Companion! Nope. Just a good friend. Instead he had Free Will. I deliberated really long and hard on that one. I mean REALLY long and hard. Was his spirit of rebellion, or wisdom, or pride, or something else entirely? After obsessively listening to all Fen's banter over and over again I kept coming back to Free Will. His desire that all people should not be enslaved, and should be allowed to do what they do, just as he wants to. He really gets upset with Dorian and Iron Bull over this.
> 
> I thought of naming his spirit Freedom, because it rolls of the tongue better, but Free Will is more accurate. What do you guys think?
> 
> Hmmmm... Astlyr doesn't fully remember her Fade time? Will it come back to her later?
> 
> Quick note: a dreamer's orb is my invention (I'm pretty sure). Don't try to look it up in the wiki. Haha
> 
> Next: 7/30/15
> 
> Keep up to date, see book reviews and talk about books right here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	35. Crashing Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Waking up for work super early should not be allowed. Let's see if I have enough brain cells left to post this...
> 
> Somehow my chapter numbers are out of whack. Anyone know where it started?
> 
> Another slightly more transitional chapter, which important points none the less. I hope you all enjoy!

Part 35  
Crashing Down

“Cole, can you turn into an animal?” Astlyr leaned against the cool stones of Skyhold's wall, tilting her head back to watch the sky. She'd sought out her spirit Companion in hopes that he could help her remember her strange dream more clearly. It seemed to her that there had been a great deal about spirits in it. Thus far she had had been little success, but she felt compelled to ask him this question.

“I like the way I look,” Cole answered. He was standing with his side to her, half listening to her, and half to the other pain in Skyhold. She knew he wanted to make up for time lost in their travels. He was actively seeking those who needed his help.

“But could you, if you wanted to?”

“But I don't want to,” he tilted his head, glancing at her with an expression that told her she was being thick again.

Astlyr sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair, which was still hanging loose from her night with Cullen. “Never mind,” she said, smiling. “Go on, Cole. Go help people.”

“Thank you,” Cole flashed his quick smile, then vanished in a puff of cool air.

Astlyr stood for a long moment, trying to remember. It felt like something important had been learned, but what? Why was she so concerned about a dream anyway? She had the sense of dejavu as she leaned against the wall. As though she had stood just there, but when? One thing she did feel more certain of, and it stuck in her mind as though someone had run up and shouted it in her face; Fen'Harel, in the guise of Solas, had once hinted that the elvhen 'gods' were merely powerful beings, not true gods at all. Astlyr had suspected this for some time, but now, for whatever reason, she was absolutely certain.

She wondered if she should go talk to Fen and his fellow 'deities'. Should she confront them with this knowledge? Didn't the elvish people deserve to know? Or perhaps it didn't matter. Would the elves even believe such a thing? Perhaps if Fen'Harel stood before them and transformed into a wolf? She leaned her head back again, feeling her horns scrape against the wall. Not an all together pleasant sensation.

“You look like you need a break, Boss,” Iron Bull and a few of his chargers came strolling up to her. “We're on our way to the tavern for some breakfast ale. Care to come?”

Astlyr raised her eyebrow at 'breakfast ale' but Krem gave her an encouraging smile and so she pushed herself away from the wall. “Alright,”. She wasn't much in the mood for a meal, be it alcoholic or otherwise, but any conversation was better than letting her mind roll over and over these half-formed memories like a pebble in a stream. Cullen had asked her about her dream when he had wakened and saw her contemplative expression, but she had been evasive. She felt that she wanted to sort it out herself before she tried to explained it to anyone, save Cole.

Inside the tavern the Chargers claimed a spot on the second floor gallery. There was a good ale to be had, but also dried meat with hunks of hearty, nut-filled bread. A wheel of cheese and some fruit in honey preserve was also laid out and everyone tucked in greedily. Before long the Chargers were deep in conversation. They were eager to be out of Skyhold and rounding up evil-doers again. Astlyr's encounter with the Venatori had excited the mercenaries' imaginations. They reasoned that if one group of Venatori were still skulking around, then there might be others, and wouldn't the Chargers be the best ones to go investigate and deal with the menace?

Astlyr leaned back in her chair, half listening to this conversation, and half to another happening below her on the main floor. A small group of soldiers, who had been recently recalled to Skyhold, were having breakfast together. “Something up, and that's sure,” said a male voice.

“We're soldiers, this is a fortress, of course something is up,” answered another.

“And if there is?” a female voice this time. “We wait for further orders, like always. What are you two whinging for?”

“Because last time we were here there was a gigantic hole in the sky and some ancient god-whatsit was trying to murder us all.” said the first man.

“Yeah, an' we killed him, didn't we? Well, the Inquisitor did, but we helped. We kept his forces busy.” the woman pointed out.

“Yeah, that may be true, but I'm in no hurry to repeat that. Especially with the leadership being so tight mouthed about it. With the rifts at least we knew what was going on as soon as the generals did. This time, nary a peep. Just orders: 'Return to Skyhold.'” the second man sounded more grouchy than frightened, which was something, Astlyr supposed. She could work with grouchy.

“I heard it has something to do with the Empress. I've got a cousin lives in Halamshiral an' she says that the Empress has gone into hiding. Something about another assassination attempt.” the woman supplied.

“How do Orlesians do it?” the first man wondered. Astlyr heard him smack his mug down on the table. “How do they function with a leader that everyone wants dead all of the time? It's like they cut off one head, only to have their own cut off too. It's ridiculous.”

“I never said it made sense,” the woman replied, “I just told you what I suspect. I imagine the Empress has called for help from her ol' pal the Inquisitor and we're going to march to her rescue. Just you wait. We'll be dining on frilly cakes in no time. You watch.”

Astlyr stifled a smile. Her old pal, eh? No, the Empress had yet to call for any help from the Inquisition, but the men were half correct. They were being kept ready in case Celene should decide she needed them. However, Astlyr had her own motives for recalling the troops, and they were secret mostly because even she was not certain how to articulate them.

“What's up, Boss? You're hardly eating,” Iron Bull pointed out, once again drawing Astlyr's mind back to the present location.

Astlyr sighed, settling her elbows on the table and crossing her arms. “I'm not certain, Bull. I can't put my finger on it.”

“Maybe you just need the advice of a good spy. Why don't you try me?” He lowered his head, conspiratorial. His horns almost clacked with hers. It felt admittedly odd to be so close to him. She hadn't since they had broken off their relationship. Had she been avoiding her fellow qunari? Even subconsciously? She still valued his opinion. If she had been keeping clear of him, the big man had the grace not to mention it. He was a valuable friend, even if the love she desired from him had never quite been there.

“Well...” Astlyr felt at a loss as to where to begin with her suspicions and concerns. Just as she thought she had wrapped her mind around the problem at hand, there was a terrific crashing sound from outside and the whole tavern shook. There was the sound of shouting, the guard being called to arm and turn out. Astlyr and the Chargers stood as one being, rushing down the stairs, which were already crowded with people, towards the courtyard. Luckily, when two qunari wanted to get someplace, most others had the good sense to stand out of their way.

“Makers balls and Andraste's sainted tits!” Astlyr swore as she took in the sight in Skyhold's main courtyard. A dragon had landed, apparently quite clumsily, right smack in the middle of things. It flailed about as though drunk, errant wings taking chunks out of stone, and horns swiping at any who drew too near.

“Watch out!” Astlyr shouted, “it'll have a breath attack!”

The guards, who were already surrounding and threatening the creature, backed away slightly now that experienced dragon slayers Astlyr and Iron Bull were there. Astlyr could see the relief on their faces. Cassandra and Cullen came hurtling out of Skyhold's main door. Cas charged down the steps, stopping once as the dragon's tail swung around and almost struck her, then hurrying on.

Cullen remained at the top, taking charge of the frightened guard, and any civilians who were still out in the yard. “Get inside a stone structure! Avoid the tavern and the stable! I want everyone not fighting this thing inside Skyhold NOW!”

Astlyr could only spare a moment to admire her man shouting orders with the force of a lion, before she had to turn her attention of the beast at hand. She only wore her simple tunic and winter cloak, but today she had a blade at her hip. Her shield was tucked away safe in its special spot in the armory so she grabbed one off of a passing guard. It was too small by far, so she settled for holding it awkwardly rather than strapping it onto her arm.

Iron Bull and his Chargers were better armed, though none was wearing armor, they each pulled weapons. “Usual strategy, Boss?” Iron Bull called, wielding his huge battle maul as easily as Astlyr might her longsword.

“Yes,” Astlyr encouraged, eying the guards who had remained to fight. Older, more seasoned battlers, and several of the soldiers who had been called home to Skyhold and had been working in the practice yard at the time of the strange landing.

“Why would a dragon behave this way?” asked a voice at Astlyr's arm. She looked down to see Stalwart Guardswoman Jones. The woman was wearing her captain's armor and wielding her blade and shield. She was making a valiant attempt not to seem as pants-wettingly alarmed as Astlyr knew she was.

“I don't know,” Astlyr admitted, watching the creature flail around. It wasn't attacking with the intelligent motions of a hunter that she was used to. “It must be sick. At least that should make it easier to take down.” Astlyr shouted orders to the guards, even as Bull and his people acted, already knowing the plan. “These are tight quarters! Get up under the beast if you can!” This was a stratagem Astlyr and her people often employed against the giant lizards. You risked being stepped on or kicked, but you avoided deadly breath attacks and being chomped in half by extremely sharp teeth.

The guards struggled to obey. Above, on the wall, Astlyr saw that Lady Vivienne had heard the ruckus and gathered a few of her best mages to bombard the monster's back and wings. This assault was highly effective and the creature let out a roar of pain and frustration.

“NO! STOP!” Cole appeared between Astlyr and the dragon, even as she was about to charge with Cas and Jones at either side of her.

“Cole?” Astlyr brought herself up short and then ducked as a wing came around and swatted the air near them. The gust of wind it generated knocked poor Jones from her feet. Cassandra had been ready and braced herself. “What is it? What's wrong?”

“She's not a dragon! She's a lie! She came to warn us!”

“Stand down!” Astlyr shouted, raising her hands to the mages on the wall to signal that they should stop their assault. “Get clear of it!” she ordered the guards and Chargers, who hastily withdrew from under the dragon's belly where they had begun attacking the insides of legs and jabbing spears upwards towards the dragon's scaly midsection. “Cole, what are you saying? Who-” before she asked she knew. Now that she looked more closely at the long necked, slender dragon with scales that shone pale red, almost pinkish, she knew. “Morrigan?”

The dragon swiveled its great head around and seemed to fix Astlyr with a knowing stare before it let out a roar and flailed again, almost toppling sideways and taking a hefty chunk of wall with it.

“It hurts too much! She can't get free of the claws and scales. She wears it like a protective skin, only it's not working and she wants to warn us-” Cole said, just loud enough for Astlyr to hear.

“Viv, can you help?” Astlyr called up to the wall, “This isn't a true dragon! It's lady Morrigan, but I think she's trapped in her animal form. Can you help free her?”

The mages moved cautiously down from the wall, watching the gigantic beast with highly suspicious eyes. Vivienne came to stand beside Astlyr as the dragon swayed and flopped about, “I certainly hope I can assist her,” the tall woman said, raising her staff, “before she brings Skyhold down around our ears.” Viv gave quick instruction to her fellows and soon varying colors of magic were slithering though the air towards the beast.

The dragon lurched back, head raised. Astlyr resisted the urge to tackle Cole out of the way of the breath attack she anticipated. She was still in battle mode, even if she had been told to withdraw. Cassandra obviously had the same thought as she drew near Astlyr, looking tense, her square jaw tight.

Then, slowly at first, the dragon began to change. It merely shrank at first, what appeared to be smoke roiling up around it like water boiling over the rim of a pot. Several guards gasped audibly as the mages kept up their efforts. Then the smoke concealed the dragon completely, and when it dissipated with unnatural quickness a woman was huddled in the snow, black hair and pale skin unmistakeable. She was on her hands and knees with long cuts up her arms and across her torso from the guard's blades. At least her injuries shrank with her, Astlyr thought with some relief. Without being bidden by Cole Astlyr pulled her cloak from herself and knelt before the hedge mage, draping it over her boney shoulders. “Morrigan?”

“Lady Morrigan, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” Vivienne asked, a look of deepest scorn on her features.

Morrgian coughed, hugging the cloak to herself. Cole teleported to squat at her side, watching with an intense, urgent expression on his face. “Fetch a healer!” Astlyr ordered the nearest guard. The woman snapped to smart attention, nodded curtly, and departed.

Morrigan raised a trembling hand as if to try to stay the guardswoman. “There is no time.” she said, her voice quiet and husky.

“The voices are calling, clawing at my insides, fire that will be freed,” Cole muttered, rocking forward and back, his hat brim now obscuring his eyes. “They will succeed, I came to warn, to help, and you must heed.”

“The demon-ling is correct,” Morrigan managed. Even as she spoke the blacking smoke began to gather around her again, as if it had merely been waiting, out of sight. Hastily the mages reacted, their spells moving in to stall the smoke. Astlyr waited for Cole to correct Morrigan, but he seemed too lost in her pain to protest that he was no demon.

Astlyr sensed the urgency of the situation like a knife tickling her ribs. She wondered if she was feeding off of Cole. Cullen, Cas and Iron Bull had drawn closer too, curious. The woman spoke again, haltingly, “They are coming. The Old Ones. The Old Gods of the Elvhenan. One was too eager and a mistake was made. Now an army must march. Fereldan is their target and you are all in danger.”

“Maker's breath,” Cullen muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“They're coming here? What army?” Astlyr pressed, hoping for more details. This didn't sound good, and vagueness made her feel even more alarmed.

“You shall have to fight them. No one else is ready. No one else will listen,” Morrigan choked, her yellow eyes flicking up to meet Astlyr's green. “I stole from her...from mother—Mythal. I took it back,” she was fumbling with something in a satchel at her belt. In moments she held out an object dangling on a leather cord.

Astlyr found she had no words. The object item a plain one, much weathered with time and repeated wearings. A smallish jawbone which had once belonged to a wolf, untold ages before. Astlyr's breath hitched. She knew what it was. Somehow she knew, though she wasn't certain how. Had she put the pieces together herself at some point without realizing? “Fen'Harel's-” she caught herself. Guards were drawing closer, the mages were also listening, especially Vivienne who did not look pleased.

“It is,” Morrigan nodded wearily.

“Mythal sings in my soul and holds me fast. Forcing me, fighting me, I can only break free for a moment and then I fall,” Cole said, using his too-fast tumbling way of speaking as he continued to read Morrigan.

“Is this because of The Well?” Astlyr questioned, her eyes still locked with Morrgian's. A healer had arrived, bandages ready, but now Astlyr didn't want unnecessary ears, so she held up her hand to keep the healer back for the moment. “The voices from The Well of Sorrows?”

“That elf...Abalas, he said that whoever drank from the well would become servant to Mythal.” Cassandra said, keeping her voice low.

“We needed the knowledge,” Morrigan hissed.

Astlyr was sorely tempted to point out that more likely the mage had wanted the knowledge for herself, little fearing some prediction of slavery to a long dead god. Her hands clenched and heard the leather of her gloves squeak as she squeezed. Morrigan was now working against the Inquisition, possibly the world, though she was doing her best to fight it. She had stolen back Fen'Harel's foci after all. Astlyr took the jaw bone gingerly, fervently hoping that this was not a trap. Her left hand prickled and she made certain to hold it in her right.

“I advise you to move clear,” Morrigan's eyes dropped from Astlyr's and her whole, slim frame shook. Astlyr jumped back, knowing what was likely to happen next. Cole darted to the side, shoving a guard who had gotten to close clear of the dragon that was already re-forming in their midst.

“Viv!” Astlyr shouted, gripping the wolf jawbone so tightly that she felt the teeth pinch even through her glove.

The mages reacted without further urging, struggling to wrap their magics around the dragon again as she thrashed, taking out a large flag pole beside the wall stairs. Astlyr felt it then, the thrum of old magic. A spell, ancient and consuming, that Morrigan was wrapped within. The anchor stung as the veil pressed hungrily around them. The mages felt it too. Some even stopped casting in surprise, their own magic jumping and sparking out of control. Morrigan flapped her enormous wings and took to the sky, more gracefully than she had landed. She even avoided smashing into one of the high watch towers as she sped away into the snowy mountains.

Astlyr exhaled a long breath, letting her muscles loosen. Damn dragon had taken her cloak with it, she thought wryly. Everyone was staring at her now, lacking a giant beast to gape at, the Inquisitor was the next best thing. Those who had been near enough to hear snippets of what the shape shifter had said were looking to her for answers. Vivienne came to stand beside Astlyr, arms folded. She didn't need the enchanter to speak to know that she was already feeling self righteous. Of course that upstart Morrigan had gotten herself into some horrible situation, possibly with demons. Her thirst for power was too great. “Well, that was certainly an interesting way to spend my morning. Any thoughts you might care to share on the subject, Darling?”

Astlyr turned to Cullen and Cassandra, “Everyone in Skyhold will have heard the ruckus, even if they didn't investigate it themselves, we need to keep things calm. Get people back to their duties and chores. Let them know that as soon as I have further details myself, I will inform them what is going on.”

“I can help,” Jones' voice was small, but determined. She stood, almost obscured by the two experienced leaders, looking hopeful.

“Alright, Jones. You do the same with your men. You can also get a few more guards on the walls. I don't want any more dragons dropping in on me without a little more warning.”

“Yes ma'am,” Jones stepped out from behind Cullen, saluted, then darted off to complete her tasks with her usual dogged enthusiasm.

“Watch that one,” Cassandra's eyes sparkled as she watched the young woman go, “she might be something someday.”

Cullen managed to stay on task, his gold-flecked eyes intense, “we need answers, Astlyr.”

“I know. I wish Morrigan had told us where these 'gods-” she kept her voice low as she said the word, “are holing up.”

“We thought they were raising an army in Orlais. You said it would be impossible to move them to Fereldan with any haste,” Cas pointed out.

“Perhaps they don't need one, they are 'gods' after all.” Iron Bull had strode over, though he kept his chargers away from the conversation. “Maybe they just want to look big, like that dragon guy we fought, and see if they can scare us.”

Astlyr caught herself scanning the sky, already on the lookout for further dragon activity. “She mentioned any army, but we have no idea how large. It's moving, but it could take months to get here for all we know.”

“And she said Fereldan. Fereldan is large, we have no idea where they might try to set up their army. They'll need food, supplies, shelter after so much marching. We won't be able to miss them,” Cullen pointed out, his voice already level, calming.

“I still want to keep our ear to the ground,” Astlyr sighed, looking down at the jawbone dangling from her hand.

“Wasn't that Solas's?” Cullen took in the foci with interest.

“I'll explain later,” Astlyr said, “for the moment let's get everyone back to work and calm. I need to go have some words with our resident gods. I also want scouts moving out as soon as possible. If there is an army massing anywhere near us I need to know. I want people on both sides of the Frostbacks. They may have sent Morrigan to scout ahead, willing servant that she is now, and Mythal could be privy to her thoughts, so we'll need to be certain we aren't caught unawares.”

“Right,” Cullen nodded curtly.

“What about Celwydd, or is it June?” Cassandra asked, speaking so quietly Astlyr had to lean down to hear. “We already knew that he was in Fereldan, seeking foci. Could have have resurrected more of these 'gods'?”

“He may have,” Astlyr nodded, watching as Cullen moved off to shoo the remaining gawkers about their business. “We know that he got his hands on at least one of the foci. The god of death, I believe.”

“Yes, I recall it,” Cassandra affirmed with a scowl. “Perhaps they too have been gathering elves to their cause.”

“I've heard no reports of elves going missing from alienages here in Fereldan,” Astlyr pointed out.

“We do not have as many alienages as they do in Orlais,” Cas countered, “and our local Dalish tribe has turned up missing, as I recall.”

Astlyr's breath gave a little hitch and Cole was at her side in an instant. She glanced down at him. He didn't seem to know what to do now that he was there, but her worry had called him as plainly as if she had shouted in his direction. She wondered if there was some way she could conceal her pain from him so he would not be so drawn to her every time she felt overwhelmed.

“There isn't,” Cole answered her thoughts with a shrug. He did not seem bothered by her unintended ability.

“As long as you are here, Cole,” Cassandra had obviously decided to put the boy to good use, “can you tell us anything more? Anything else you could draw from Morrigan.”

“Her pain was big, but confused. Not like an Old One, herself. They draw her, hold her because she wanted more and stepped into sadness. It swallowed her. The voices were loud.”

“Could you understand the voices?” Astlyr questioned.

“No. They were jumbled and they didn't want me to understand. Even she doesn't understand most of them and they're in her head. They weren't always so loud. She wants them to be quiet again so she can think, but They don't want her to think.” Cole enunciated the 'They' and Astlyr understood he referred to the gods who held Morrigan in their sway.

“Alright, Cole, thank you,” Astlyr said, placing her free hand on his shoulder for a moment. This seemed to satisfy him and he was gone in an instant with another huff of smoke. “I think I had better have a word with Fen. At the very least I have something to give him,” she raised the foci slightly.

“Right, Boss,” Iron Bull, who had been standing quietly, mostly keeping onlookers back with his imposing self, dipped a horn to her. “The Chargers and I can start scouting if you like. The boys are getting restless again.”

“You mean you are,” Astlyr gave him a quick smile. “Don't go too far from Skyhold. I may need you here.”

“Right,” Bull nodded again, then strode off to join his Chargers. Cassandra too went about her tasks and Astlyr headed up the stairs into the fortress.

~~~~~

She opened the door to Fen'Harel's room with considerably more force than was needed. The two figures inside jumped, looking up at her. She had expected Myfanwy, but instead Dirthamen sat with Fen'Harel, doing what appeared to be research. For a moment Astlyr was staggered by the flash of an odd, half formed memory. The two men standing in a summoning circle accompanied by animals, of all things. Then the memory was gone.

“Astlyr! I have excellent news,” Dirthamen stood, a smile spreading over his round face. When he spoke his voice conjured the image of another man in her mind's eye. Tall and dark skinned, with the same fathomless brown eyes. She was caught off guard by his exclamation and didn't know how to react. He went on as though she was not standing in the doorway looking baffled. “I have been communing with the spirits more closely, finding out what I can about this new world. It is fascinating, but by far the most exciting is that I believe I have learned something about your kind, dragon's daughter! You told me that some of your kind believe dragon was bred into your people. The spirits tell me it was the other way around. The dragon was bred out!”

“Bred...out?”

“It took centuries, it may have even begun during our time, though we didn't not know it,” Dirthamen gesticulated excitedly. “Somewhere elves, or a species very like elves, were magically combining themselves with dragons. You are, in all likelihood, part dragon!”

“That is...something...” Astlyr was still uncertain how to react. Interesting information to be certain, but she had come here on a mission and already Dirthamen was sending her mind wandering to highly unhelpful images of dragon-elf sexual interactions. She shuddered, then managed to pull her focus back to task and look at Fen'Harel. He was across the room from her, though he was staring at her intently. No. Not at her. At the foci still gripped in her hand. She raised it, slowly, almost as though she dreamed, towards him. “I'm certain you two must have heard the commotion outside.”

“We did,” Fen admitted. “Dirthamen knew he would not be allowed to investigate so I remained here with him. I also wished to be nearby should Ghilan'nain have need of me.”

Astlyr almost asked how the hala goddess fared, but changed her mind. Keep on task. She crossed the room in four long strides and unceremoniously plopped the jawbone into Fen'Harel's hands. “I believe this belongs to you.”

It was Fen's turn to look stunned. He stared at the object, his mouth slightly ajar, blue eyes wide. Dirthamen watched this with quiet curiosity. Astlyr guessed he must know the item, and that Fen had been without it, but he seemed to be waiting for her to take charge of the conversation now. Astlyr hesitated, uncertain. A concern had been building inside her for some time now and it was dangerously close to boiling over. She decided she had fought it down long enough. Before she accidentally called Cole to her again she blurted; “your friends are coming. Your fellow gods. That noise from the yard, that was Morrigain coming to warn us.”

“Warn us?” Fen'Harel's voice was small, dry sounding. He seemed unable to tear his eyes from the foci resting on his palm. No magic jumped, no sparks glittered from the jawbone to Fen, but the way he caressed the object with his gaze told Astlyr that is was as precious as any jewel.

“Yes,” Astlyr pressed on. “She claimed that an army was massing. Coming here to Fereldan. I don't know what will come of it, but I am beginning to think that our last encounter will not be the final time we face off against these 'gods' of yours. My people, my fortress, may find itself at risk once again,” her voice was rising, a dangerous growl. She didn't like that Fen wouldn't look at her, so fixated was he on the item he held. She reached out and gripped his slim shoulder. This finally broke him from his reverie.

“Yes,” he said, a bit too sharply, “they will come. I had hoped it would take them much more time, but they will come to Fereldan. You know their goal, you have known it all along. They wish to right the world they see as wronged. To repair the damage and restore themselves to godhood.”

“They can't succeed. There aren't enough elves in the world to subjugate the other races.”

“But they will try,” Fen moved back from her, freeing his shoulder. Reverently he pulled the leather cord over his head, allowing the foci to land against his chest where it had been when he had was in Solas' form. If only she had known then, thought Astlyr, that an ancient elven relic of power had been within easy reach during Corypheus' war. If only Fen'Harel had not been so set on hiding what he was to use it. Her annoyance was steadily growing, and turning into anger. “We have elves here at Skyhold. Good people. Don't you think they deserve to know that their gods are alive?”

“You would tell them?” Fen'Harel's eyes became steely as he looked up at her.

“Why not? I am certain that Mythal and Elgar'nan have been telling every elf they meet who they are.”

“They may be, but I do not intend to,” Fen, stepped back again and bumped into his bed. He sat down hard.

“Why not? If your fellow 'gods' are coming to Skyhold, don't you think the elves here should know? Should be given the choice if they want to follow their deities or the rule of Skyhold?”

“And what good will that do?” Fen'Harel snapped. “I have long indicated, and I suspect you have guessed, that we are no true gods. We did not create the world, we were born to it, mewling and crying just as you were. We elevated ourselves and sought worship, but we are not worthy of it.” His tone was bitter and pained. His teeth flashed as he curled his lip in a grimace. “You believe that we should tell them their gods walk when we are not what they seek? We are not the gods they worship, and we never were. The People must choose their own path, this will not help them.”

“I'm not talking about 'The People,” Astlyr was too loud, too dominant as she loomed over the elf on the bed. Even Dirthamen cringed away from her slightly. “I'm talking about MY people. If the gods come knocking at our gates tomorrow, don't you think they should be told what they face?”

“What would they gain save a new fear of what awaits them? Do you believe they will bravely stand up to these gods if we affirm their beliefs?”

“You'd ask them to stand against their kin?”

“If they must,” Fen's voice grew lower, but he dropped his gaze, unable to hold hers. “I had hoped the memory might fade, might ebb, and The People would let go of us. That they might come to understand what we truly are. Instead they clung to dead slave masters, numbly rehearsing their servile ways until we might return.”

“Then why not reveal it? Reveal yourself? You could make them see!”

“Because they are not ready!” Fen stood too fast, eyes flashing with electricity he tilted his chin back to face Astlyr with a wild defiance she was not used to from anyone. “The People will not understand! I WILL NOT be worshiped! I won't be what I was, and neither should Mythal. If she stands before our gates I will decry her as a pretender. I will urge our soldiers to fight without fear, but they will NOT do this because I am Fen'Harel, the terrible wolf god.” he was breathing hard and Astlyr could feel the air charged with magic. She could sense it surging from him, though he channeled it around her, protecting her, perhaps unconsciously, from his power. Dirthamen made a sound of surprise and alarm. “Do not meddle in that which is not your business, Inquisitor,” Fen finished, too sharp teeth cutting his lip and making it bleed.

Astlyr felt shaken for the first time in a very long while. She had not given an inch, even as the mage had faced her with wild and angry magic, yet she felt as though he had struck her. Fen folded back in on himself, sitting down on the bed again and wiping his lip with the back of his hand. Astlyr did step back then, one step, to steady herself. She looked to Dirthamen, “you...you feel the same?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky.

“I am the secret keeper. Until all of us are ready to reveal ourselves, I cannot. I too must be what I am.” he said in a gentle tone. It was a stark contrast indeed to Fen's furied explosion. “Fen'Harel is not wrong,” he gave Astlyr a wan smile, his dark eyes held a pleading quality. “We are not ready to show what we are to The People because we have yet to figure out what we are. We are new in this new world. We cannot be what we have been. Can never go back. It will be a difficult transition for some,” he shot a glance at the wall, on the other side of which Astlyr knew Ghilan'nain was housed.

“Alright,” Astlyr's shoulders slumped. She felt as though someone had draped a weight over her. “You're right. This is not my business. The elves in Skyhold are mine to protect, but I can protect them without claiming to be personal friends with their deities. If Mythal should come to our gates under a banner of war, I will tell my people that she is a liar, as Corypheus was.”

“It is the truth,” Fen muttered. He was slumped, shoulders rounded, staring at his hands in his lap. The picture of dejection. It would have been impossible to convince Astlyr that this elf had been the powerful man who had stood before her only moments ago, seething with deadly magic, had she not been a part of it. “She is no god. No more than I.”

“She can still transform into a dragon,” Astlyr sighed, rubbing the back of her neck wearily. “Elgar'nan nearly killed us when we encountered him, and even June gave us some trouble.”

“You forget-” Dirthamen gave her an encouraging smile, “we have a dragon of our own,” he gestured to her and she had to work to keep the grin from her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Morrigan. Letting her drink from the Well was one of the toughest decisions in the game for me. When I was playing as Astlyr she knew they needed the Well's power, but also did not feel worthy of it herself, having little knowledge of elfy-ness. So Morrigan drank, but all I could think was "what about that 'serving Mythal' business". I knew that would have to come back to bite eventually.
> 
> Mostly I threw in the bit about the quarni because it is my personal head-canon. Couldn't resist. ;)
> 
> And then Fen got all bristly. No lie, my hubby and did actually role-played out that scene a bit, because I knew it would drive Astlyr crazy not to tell her people, but Fen would never allow it. Tense. Very tense.
> 
> Now, here's something to get you excited for the next chapter: King Alistair!
> 
> Next week I will be traveling with my peeps to the DOTA Championships! However, I still plan to have the chapter out on time. If things change I'll let you all know on the FB page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> Next: (Should be) 8/6/15
> 
> Wanna check out a chapter of an original book I might work on after Old Gods? Check right here!  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/The-White-Rose-Chapter-one-sample-chapter-549484071


	36. Exodus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, surmounting all of the internet issues I have been having, I have managed to bring you the latest chapter! This time from Seattle where I am at the Dota 2 Internationals with my youtube team: Pariah Caste!  
> Check us out on FB: https://www.facebook.com/pc.pariah.caste  
> and Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/PariahCaste
> 
> And now, please enjoy the chapter!

Part 36  
Exodus

“It isn't your responsibility, Astlyr,” Cullen said. He was sitting at her desk, having retreated to her quarters, ostensibly because they were quieter. She suspected he had other reasons, but she didn't bring it up.

A week and a half had passed since the dragon indecent, and Astlyr had thought the pesky issue of elven gods and their true natures was finally fleeing her mind. The reports had come back time and time again that no army had been sighted, at least not near Skyhold or the Frostbacks. A few of their farther flung scouting parties had yet to return. Astlyr tried to remind herself that they had traveled almost to Denerim. It was a goodly trek, even on horseback, and they would be moving carefully. Yet these had not received a single crow, not a word. It made her tense.

Then there was the thorny issue of Fen'Harel and his godhood. Every now and again her mind fled back to that territory and today she trod it with Cullen. She turned to her man, her hands planted on her hips, “If I knew Andraste was alive and walking around, wouldn't you like me to tell you?”

Cullen sat back in her wooden desk chair where he had been poised to begin signing a few documents. He fidgeted with his quill pen as he thought. “I don't know that I would. I'm being honest, Astlyr,” he said when she gave him an incredulous look. “I think I'd want to come to her on my own.”

“By faith alone?” Astlyr cocked an eyebrow.

“I know you think it's ridiculous, but that's how I think I'd prefer it. I doubt you'd get a different answer from Cassandra either.”

“What if I you had to fight Andraste?”

“Maker, then I definitely wouldn't want to know!”

“Suppose she wasn't really what you thought she is? What if she was only a human and pretending to be your god?”

“Is Fen'Harel only an elf?” Cullen's gold flecked eyes met hers, questioning. “I always got the impression he was a bit more than that.”

“Well, he is, but by his own admission he's not a god,” she sat down on her bed sighing.

“If Adraste was here, I wouldn't want you to tell me, god or no,” Cullen concluded, firmly. “Here,” he held out several papers, “these need your signature as well.”

Astlyr heaved an annoyed groan, but crossed to the desk to sign. “I don't like to encourage Fen's propensity for lying. I still think it's wrong to hide what he and his fellow 'gods' truly are from the elves here, but I can also see your point, and Fen's.”

“In the end it really isn't your place,” Cullen reaffirmed. “You're the leader of Skyhold, and some even still view you as a holy figure,” Astlyr made another disgruntled snort and Cullen pressed on, “but you are not an elf, you don't believe in their gods, you don't share their history. It isn't your duty to reveal the nature of their gods.”

Astlyr slumped against the desk. “I know. It still bothers me. What do we say to the soldiers if Mythal comes to Skyhold again?”

“If these 'gods' come as friends, we talk to them. If they come as enemies, we tell our forces that they are foes that will attack us, and they will fight. It's what soldiers do.”

“I thought you hated keeping things from your men,” she looked up from the papers, her pen paused mid signature.

“I do. But that doesn't mean I won't. Besides,” he gave her a little smirk, “most of my men are human.”

“That's cheating,” she sniggered. She scrawled her name messily across the rest of the documents and was about to ask how he felt about lunch, when the watch bell began ringing.

Both she and Cullen sprang towards the door with such speed that they nearly collided. They were neck in neck crossing the main hall, joined by Cassandra, who had been sitting with Myfanwy and Varric beside the big fireplace. The seeker's hand rested tensely on the hilt of her sword as she strode hastily to catch up with her friends. Astlyr rarely wore a blade in Skyhold. She had learned early that an armed qunari strolling about the place was unnerving to the people at best, and at worst downright terrifying. She would have to stop by the armory if she wanted gear, but for the moment tried to remind herself that it was only the bell, nothing more. She could hear no sounds of combat, nor of a giant, winged lizard destroying the courtyard.

Varric and Myfanwy stood at once and trailed after the leaders, curious, but intelligent enough to stay back and out of the way. Astlyr and company reached the courtyard just as the main gates were swinging laboriously outward, the portcullis having already been raised. Allies then, Astlyr guessed, or the gates would never be opened so willingly. Positioning herself to see who was approaching Astlyr was surprised to see only one horse, though with two riders, making their way up the long bridge at a canter. Alun, the stone wolf, was trotting beside the obviously exhausted horse, encouraging the animal onward.

A few stable hands rushed over as soon as hoof beats echoed in the yard. “One of our scouts!” Cassandra confirmed as the man riding fore on the horse reined in the panting beast. He wore the low hood and colors of the Skyhold far-riders, Astlyr noted as the man slid from the saddle. His legs didn't hold him and he collapsed to his knees with a surprised sound. The person who had been riding behind him was obviously unconscious and slid limply off the other side, hitting the ground with a thump before anyone could catch her.

Cullen knelt beside the scout, who was still on all fours, gasping in air, “I'm- I'm alright, Commander. Just been...riding for a long time. My legs are like jelly.”

Astlyr moved around the horse to where people had already coming to the aid the second rider. The horse itself, a healthy, lean charger, was huffing for air and trembling with exertion She knew that a horse could, and indeed would, run itself to death if asked, and this beast had come dangerously close to collapsing. She would have to ensure that Dennet himself saw to the intrepid mount. Then she crouched to see who else had ridden into Skyhold, already hearing the portcullis slide back down to seal the fortress safely once more.

“Sera? Maker's balls! Cass, it's Sera!” Astlyr's words were sharp as she took in the short, blond hair and the small, clever face of her friend.

The elf was in a crumpled heap beside the horse's hooves. She was a bloody mess, with wounds obviously not caused by her short fall from the saddle. One of the stable hands was kneeling, supporting her neck and head with a worried expression. Seconds later Cole was there, crouching beside the elf, delicate hands fluttering over her with concern.

“Buttercup?” Varric had drawn closer, with Myfanwy uncertainly tagging behind. “Shit!” he exclaimed when he saw Sera's condition.

Astlyr moved in and scooped the limp elf easily into her arms. Cole was resting a hand on Sera's forehead, walking along beside them. Cullen threw the scout's arm across his shoulders, with Cassandra taking the other side, even as the man protested that he would be alright in a moment. His horse was led slowly away, its head so low that its chin almost touched the snowy ground.

“I'll go ahead and warn the healers,” Cole stated before vanishing with his usual puff of smoke and cold air.

“I can report, sers,” the scout offered.

“Wait until we've had you seen too,” Cullen reassured the man, who was no doubt feeling insecure, surrounded as he was by Skyhold's highest leadership.

The infirmary was its usual, warm and welcoming self. A small fire was being coaxed to life and there was that familiar smell of herbs and fresh beddging. The healers bustled forward, Cole in tow. Astlyr set her charge carefully on a bed. Sera didn't stir. Astlyr ripped her glove from her hand with her teeth and felt for a pulse. It was there. Fluttering, but present. The healers swooped in, bustling her to the side.

“They can help,” Cole reminded Astlyr in a calm tone. She heaved a sigh, stepped even further out of their way.

“Never fear, Inquisitor,” Audra, the lead healer, confirmed with a smile, “we'll take excellent care of her.”

Astlyr turned her attention to the scout. He was a youngish man, with messy blond hair and a ruddy, weathered face. He sat on the edge of his bed, already being fussed over by a healer. He was attempting to wave the woman away, but she insisted on checking him over. “I'm alright,” he reassured everyone. He actually looked embarrassed as he met Astlyr's eyes. He seemed ready to stand up and give her a proper salute, but she forestalled him by sitting down at the foot of the bed. “What is your name, scout, and can you tell us what happened?”

“I'm called Edward, Ma'am, Ed to my friends. With the Green Leaf Long Riders. We were assigned to check on Redcliff and then head towards Denerim. We had recently reached the captiold city and were establishing our camp and our plan. A few of ours had gone inside to investigate the goings on.”

“Did everything look clear?” Cassandra asked, folding her arms. She kept shooting concerned glances towards Sera.

“She will be alright,” Cole answered the concern everyone was emanating. “She's strong. Her spirit is wild, like a cat that had been in too many fights and keeps fighting. She never minds the scratches.”

The scout stared at Cole for a long moment before seeming to forget the boy was there and continuing his report as though no one had spoken, “That's just it, Commander, all seemed well, if very quiet. One of my fellows, name of Amber, said she felt as though the city was holding its breath, waiting for something. Even the taverns were less lively than usual, though we had not investigated them all. The only other thing we noticed was that there were not many coming or going from the city's main gates, but it is winter, after all. Trade is bound to slow. When I left my team, we had not concluded our exploration. We found the lady,” he nodded towards Sera, “freezing to death on the ground just outside the city, all bloodied as you see her, and muttering things that made no sense.”

“What was she saying?” Astlyr questioned.

“Something about cookies, as I recall. And 'elfy elves', whatever those are. Then she went off on a long ramble about pies. One of my lads recognized her as a friend of yours, Inquisitor, so our healer patched her up good, and they loaded her onto my horse and told me to ride hard for Skyhold. Feather is the fastest mount we've yet had,” he added, proudly.

“Why not take her in to Denerim for treatment?” Cullen asked.

“We decided this way was best. Our healer is skilled, and we knew that whoever had hurt your lass was somewhere in the city,” the scout shrugged. “We thought it more prudent to bring her back to you.”

“Did she say anything else on the ride back to Skyhold?” Cullen questioned.

“Well, when she was awake she liked to call me names,” the scout smiled ruefully. “Mostly she drifted in and out. Our healer had me dose her as needed with an elfroot concoction to keep her comfortable, but it didn't half make the elf sleepy. ”

Astlyr was already lost in thought. She scratched the base of a horn, her mind a busy blur again. “Your team was alright when you left them?”

“Yes, ma'am. And so am I,” the man stood to demonstrate, “Nothing ails me that a little food and water wouldn't fix right up.” As if on cue one of the healers bustled over to push the man back down into a sitting position and press a mug of tea, and a small loaf with cheese sandwiched on it, into his hands. “Cheers,” Edward said, smiling and taking a bite of his meal.

“Astlyr, Cassandra,” Cullen motioned with a nod for friends to step aside and chat. Astlyr knew that Varric and Myfanwy were hovering just outside the infirmary, but she wasn't ready to include them in her musings just yet. “This sounds hopeful. I know we were worried about our Long Riders, and it sounds as though his unit is alright, at least.”

“You're right, of course,” Astlyr agreed. “I'm jumping at shadows. Our scouts are merely being thorough before sending back reports”

“It's understandable for you to be concerned after we lost so many at Halamshiral,” said Cullen sympathetically, touching her elbow.

“Get that creepy thing away from me!” Sera's voice was a shrill and loud. Everyone turned to see the young woman struggling to sit up and pointing an accusatory finger at Cole, who backed away obediently. Then the elf hesitated and looked about herself, as though finally recognizing her surroundings. She caught sight of Astlyr and company, her eyes widening, “How'd I get back here?”

“I brought you,” the scout waved helpfully from his bed.

“Nuts to you, human. What, you want a tearful 'thank you'? Not bloody likely. I was doin' fine on my own. Didn't ask to be brought no where.” She tried again to sit and only managed to prop herself up on her elbows.

Audra was not about to take any lip, “You, missy, have frostbite on your hands and feet, a bad head wound and several lacerations on your legs. If the scout hadn't found you and doctored you up, you would have died of exposure and that's all there is to it. Now be still while we try to save your fingers. You shan't be using that fancy bow of yours without them! You're lucky you didn't catch pneumonia.”

Sera scowled and harrumphed but did not seem to have the energy to struggle. Varric, clearly unable to keep to the hallway any longer, strode into the room. Myfanwy was his reserved shadow, hanging well back from Sera. The last time the two elves had interacted it had not gone well. Cole came and took his place beside Myfanwy as if both were children made to stand in the corner. “How are you doing, Buttercup?” Varric asked, managing to be at Sera's side, and out of the way of the healers at the same time.

“Varric, you're still here? I thought you would've had the sense to go home ages ago.” Sera said as a healer gingerly applied a salve and bandaged her fingers. They had turned an unhealthy dark blue at the very tips.

“Ah, you know me, I like to stay where the action is. Besides, Kirkwall in winter is not a pleasant place. All the shit just freezes over. No one wants that. But what happened to you out there, kiddo?” Varric asked in his gentle, husky voice. Astlyr caught on at once. If she and her fellow leaders asked for details, the normally prickly Sera might clam up, especially as she was obviously chilled and in pain. But Varric, good old pal Varric, could make it seem like conversation. Like concern rather than a pressing need for information; though Astlyr knew that in Varric's case it was both.

“Well, after I left you toadies to stew in your own juices, I struck out on my own, but I didn't fancy livin' out in the woods like them elfy elves, so I found a big city.” Sera explained as an apprentice healer handed her a bowl of warm soup. She ignored the spoon and swigged directly from the rim of the bowl.

“Denerim?”

“I dunno what it was called,” Sera shrugged as though this were the least important thing in the world.

“Did it have an alienage?” Varric asked, trying valiantly to keep a casual tone to the conversation.

“Yeah. I went there because that's where all the little people live. I wanted to see if I could find some Jennies, or maybe start a new chapter. Kick up a little interest in not being kicked, y'know?”

“I do indeed,” Varric smiled warmly.

“Things were good, yeah? I was making havoc, as usual, and the elves around that place were nice enough. A little hand-shy and squirrely, but trainable. It was goin' great right up until a few days ago. Then these other elves show up, all swagger, and cocky as fuck. Acting like their shit smells like diamonds.”

Astlyr raised an eyebrow and Varric shot her a quick 'I have no idea' glance before he focused back on Sera's tale. The elf pressed on as a healer dabbed at a nasty cut just below her hairline on the back of her head. “These elves, I dunno what their problem was, but there were spouting all kinds of shite about the rights of elves to lead, and rule, and all that. Some piss about gods and 'times that were',” she gestured with a bandaged hand to express how stupid all of it was, almost spilling her soup.

Astlyr almost made a sound, but managed to contain herself. She could see Varric's shoulders tense, just slightly. Beside her, Cullen took in a breath and Cas was gripping her crossed arms tightly. Varric cleared his throat, obviously uncertain how to proceed. “So a couple of bossy elves came in and you just left? That doesn't sound like you.”

“Nah, I didn't scarper right off,” Sera took another swig of her soup. “I told that noisy fucker he was full of piss and that the humans didn't care what elves said, so he could take his high and mighty talk and shove it up where the sun don't shine.”

“That sounds more like you,” Varric's eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled. “What happened then?”

“He hung around, like a bad cold you just can't shake, swaying some people to his weird way of thinkin', but I wasn't worried. He told me I was 'foolish', but I wasn't listening of course. Too busy doing my own business, shaking up nobles and stirring up shit. Getting them what was kicked to kick back, no matter if they was elf or dwarf or whatever. Then, after a little while, I think old efly britches started to get fed up. Started taking serious offense to how the humans around the place treated the elves. He got all uppity, an' he didn't do it smart. Him and his cronies started jumping any human walking alone at night. Once even brought down a guard. They sure weren't doing the elves any favors like that. I told 'em so myself. Told 'em that you have to do little things to help the little people, and then they jumped me too.”

“Jumped you?” Varric raised his eyebrows with concern.

“Yeah. Sneaky fucks. I was just having a nice walk around, yeah? Minding my own. Then they was on me like a ferret on an egg, only I squicked free and ran off. Ran right out of that city and I don't plan on goin' back. Things were shite there anyway. Everything smelled of ass.” She set down her empty bowl and snuggled into the pillows and blankets. Freshly bandaged and fed she was beginning to look drowsy.

“Right. Most places do after a while,” Varric agreed, gently tucking the elf in.

“Things are the same here, right?” Sera mumbled. “You still got your own elfy types cutting around, too big for their britches? You keepin' them in line, Inky?”

Astlyr saw Varric bite back his answer, instead giving Sera a fond smile, “You know how Skyhold is. Nothing here is ever simple. But I like to think we smell marginally less of ass.”

“I'll have to give the old place a sniff when I wake up, yeah. See if it smells like home.” Sera let her heavy lids fall and was soon open mouthed and snoring gently.

Varric waited until she seemed truly lost to slumber before standing and joining Astlyr and her leadership circle. “Well...that's a thing.”

“She only mentioned a few elves,” Cassandra, ever the voice of reason, reminded them. “And all they were doing was evangelizing about the elvehn gods. I hardly think it a threat.”

Astlyr clucked her tongue, “you're probably right. I still don't like it though. All those slave markets in Tevinter attacked. Alienages emptied without a word, and we have yet to hear any news of Fereldan's Dalish returning. I wish we knew how long those 'elfy elves'-” she made air quotes as she spoke of them, “were in Denerim.”

“We had no call for aid from the city,” Cas pointed out.

“Of course not,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “It's an internal issue. Just a few elves getting rowdy and soon to be dealt with. You don't call for Skyhold when you have the king's army right there.”

Astlyr didn't like the sound of that, but let her mind carry on its train of thought, “Anything to do with elves makes me nervous these days. I want crows sent to Denerim, just to check in on our scouts, make sure everything is going alright.”

“I will inform Josephine,” Cas said, moving to depart.

Astlyr turned back to the scout, who looked earnestly up at her, “thank you for bringing Sera back home,” she said, extending a hand for him to shake This he did, with the look of one meeting a childhood hero. She had to admit that, while the adoration could get old, it was still nice to be admired from time to time.

“No trouble, ma'am. Once Feather and I have had a good rest we'll be heading back out to rejoin our unit.”

“You've earned an extended stay here at Skyhold, if you like,” she offered.

“No thanks,” he grinned, “I want to find out what my ol' crew is up to without me. I hate for people to find things out before I do.”

“I expect that is why you make a good scout,” Astlyr clapped him on the shoulder a bit too firmly. She caught his wince and gave him an apologetic smile before she and Cullen left the infirmary.

~~~~~

During the next week in Skyhold everything fell into rhythm. Astlyr had ensured that Sera had a room made up for her in the tavern and decked out in all the belongings her friend had left behind when she had departed the first time. Though the elf put on a good show of being grumpy, especially when she saw that Fen'harel and Myfanwy were not only still around, but allowed to wander the keep freely, she allowed herself to settle back in. Astlyr suspected, though the rouge would never admit it, that Sera had missed her fortress home. At least she did seem pleased when she noted that Fen wasn't acting the god and lording it over anyone, but rather behaving as one of the team. She didn't think much of Dirthamen, but she didn't seem to mind him, as his easy manner made him quick to befriend others and he never carried himself with anything approaching a superior air. Sera was not introduced to Ghilan'nain.

Astlyr and her fellow leaders kept their ears to the ground for any sign of coming danger. None came, though Astlyr suspected that no news was not good news in this case. Not a single crow had returned from Denerim. No word had come from any of the scouting parties in the area and it made Astlyr decidedly edgy. So much so that Cole was her constant shadow. She felt guilty for monopolizing his concern, but he assured her that if he sensed any pressing pain, he would go to whoever needed him.

Iron Bull and the Chargers had returned to resupply and rest up before heading out again. They had moved southward, investigating deep into the Hinterlands, and had discovered nothing of note.

Almost two weeks from Sera's return, and with no sign of any word from Denerim, Astlyr was getting fed up. She paced Josephine's office like a tiger. Cullen slouched in a chair, attempting to play a game of chess with Cassandra, but having no luck keeping either of their attentions on the game.

“Not a single crow. No scouts have made it back from that area and I don't dare send others. I need to check this out,” Astlyr growled, for probably the third time that evening.

Cullen did his best to keep his voice relaxed, though it was a poor cloak for the unease that he too obviously felt. “We cannot set out today. Evening is upon as and we'd be charging straight into a winter night in the foothills of the mountain. Not a good start to any journey.”

“Then we head out at first light. I should gather the team.” Astlyr said, striking her fist against her palm as though she had just hit on a brilliant idea. Josie actually chuckled at her and Astlyr gave the diplomat a warning glare.

“If you go, you shall hardly be subtle,” Josephine reminded them. “Our scouting parties were intended to go unseen. You, on the other hand, are difficult to miss. You keep illustrious company as well. You'll turn heads, as you always do.”

“At this point I don't care,” Astlyr grouched.

“Checkmate,” Cullen flicked a piece into position on the board.

“Ach, damn,” Cassandra made a disgusted noise and tipped her king over with resignation.

“Come on, Astlyr,” Cullen urged his agitated lover, “let's retire. I left a few important papers in your quarters, as I recall.”

Astlyr went with Cullen, ignoring the sniggers from both women in their wake. “That was weak,” she wrinkled her nose at the man as he stood and led the way towards the door, reaching a hand back to her. She hooked his fingers lightly with her own as they went.

“Well, I really did leave some papers in your rooms,” Cullen protested, “but they're hardly crucial ones.” He blushed, “I suppose I could have come up with a better excuse. I just wanted to get you out of there before you wore a hole through the floor.”

“The stone floor?”

“If anyone could do it, it'd be you,” Cullen smirked as he opened the door to her quarters and they climbed the stairs together.

They began with a tension relieving massage. All intent was to take things farther, once they were both in a more relaxed frame of mind, but it was not to be. As Astlyr gently worked loose the small muscles in Cullen's right hand with her fingertips, and the man melted with pleasure, the alarm bell sounded once again.

Both were up and moving as though someone had scalded them. The main hall was quiet, almost deserted as night came on. Even Varric had abandoned his usual spot, likely in favor of the pub. Dorian appeared, having obviously been in the library. He threw a cloak over his casual robes and rushed to join them. No words were spoken. None were needed.

This time the portcullis was not sliding open to admit a rider. Instead guards were streaming to the walltops, bows in hand, torches being put out along the wall so as to conceal their position and keep their night vision sharp. Astlyr took the wall stairs three at a time, easily outpacing the two men.

Cassandra was already on the wall, scanning the snowy landscape with a practiced eye. “Soldiers,” she reported as Astlyr joined her. The moon was almost full that night, and as it reflected off the snow, Astlyr's vision adjusted quickly. She could make out the mass of warriors Cas had indicated heading towards Skyhold with intent.

“Quiet the bell,” Astlyr ordered. Word went around to the watch tower and moments later the alarm bell fell silent. The guards nearest her watched Astlyr for orders, their breath visibly ghosting from their lips into the frigid night. Had Astlyr not been so tense she might have realized that she was freezing. Instead she merely scrutinized the oncoming unknown element.

“We have mages on the wall as well,” Dorian pointed out in a hushed tone. “Should you need them, they're also waiting your command.”

It had taken Skyhold's magic users slightly longer to turn out than the guard, as they had been rousted from dinners and beds rather than barracks. Still, Astlyr had to admit she was impressed with their speed. They were eager as ever to prove themselves useful rather than a liability to Skyhold, and in turn, to all of Fereldan.

“Ma'am,” Jones was at Astlyr's elbow then. “Do we draw bows?”

“Not yet,” Astlyr said. “Knock arrows only, wait to draw.” She peered into the moonlit gloom and something caught her eye. “A flag,” she muttered, almost too quietly for the others to hear. Below her she saw the shape of Alun, the stone wolf, standing sentry. He too awaited orders, his head cocked, ears pricked and intent.

“Can you tell whose?” Dorian asked, trying to follow Astlyr's keen gaze.

“It looks like...” Astlyr hesitated, uncertain. The strange company of soldiers had stopped advancing some distance from the bridge which led to Skyhold. The bridge upon which a large wolf statue was positioned. One of the riders broke off from the sloppy columns and cantered forward, flag in hand. He didn't make it far before Alun stood up and his horse spooked wildly, tossing the rider to the snow. The man had managed to come close enough, however, Astlyr had gotten a good glimpse of the flag. What appeared to be two lionesses rampant over a white and gold shield. The symbol of the king's family line. “Well bugger me sideways,” Astlyr muttered.

“Who are they?” Cassandra asked, watching as the rider scrambled about trying to decide whether to catch his fleeing horse or raise the flag. Astyr could actually hear laughter coming from the mounted contingent as the man fumbled, finally deciding on the flag and raising it again, he waved it from side to side, fervently.

“Maker's breath! King Alistair?” Cullen gasped.

“We have no proof of that,” Cas reminded him, tersely.

“Alun!” Astlyr called down to the wolf, “let them draw nearer!”

The stone animal snorted with distrust, then withdrew to one side of the stone bridge, indicating as best he could without language, that the oncoming riders could come closer to the gates.

“Have we got Inquisition flags flying?” Cullen began fussing around, talking to various guards. “How does the courtyard look. Maker, if it is the king we're not at our best.”

“Be calm,” Cassandra urged the templar, “we have been playing host to the Inquisition's army. He cannot expect perfection. We are a military instillation after all.”

A small party of a dozen riders came forward next, their hoof beats clattering loudly on the stones of the bridge which led to the only entrance to Skyhold. The rider in the lead was wearing an impressive suit of armor, it glinted golden in the moonlight, as did the crown he wore. “Well, he certainly looks like the king,” Astlyr pointed out.

“Hail, The Fortress!” as lead rider called in a loud, clear voice.

“Hail, Riders!” Astlyr called back. At her signal a few torches were re-lit so that those on the ground could see Astlyr and her people above. “You bear the flag of the royal family.”

“That's because I am the royal family. Well, one of them.”

Astlyr stifled a grin. She had only heard the king's voice once before, and that had been face to face, not from such distance, but she remembered being struck by the tone. The decidedly common accent. She heard it again now and cleared her throat. “His majesty is welcome in Skyhold! Open the gates!”

“We thank you,” the king called up to her as the great portcullis rose with the sound of crying metal.

Astlyr, Cullen, Cas, Dorian and Jones hurried to meet the visiting royalty as he rode in to the courtyard. Astlyr studied the soldiers still in the snowy field, positioning themslves to ride after their king towards Skyhold. Perhaps fifty warriors. Normally not overly taxing to Skyhold and its barracks, but at the moment she would be hard pressed to find them all places, what with her own army ensconced within the fortress.

King Alistair rode in at the head of his smaller group. His horse was a beautiful white beast with golden armor to match the king's. Two squires rode slightly behind him and one either side, one bearing his standard, the other his helmet. He had removed it so he might wear his crown alone, for better visibility. He smiled down at the stable hand who rushed to take the horse's reins. Everyone else in the courtyard looked uncertain whether to bow, or hurry to look busy and professional. What was the etiquette for late night visits from the king?

Both Cas and Cullen saluted with a fist over their heart and a bow from the waist. Astlyr imitated this, though she was not certain she was expected to. As Inquisitor, how did she stack up to a king? In time of war, her word might be regarded above his. “What brings you to our fortress, highness? This visit can hardly be a social call.”

“Indeed it is not,” the king's voice sounded more ragged now, and in the torchlight of the courtyard Astlyr could see that his eyes were dark with weariness and a few days' stubble stood out on his cheeks and strong jaw. He slouched in the saddle, well, as much as he could with his armor on. Heavy plate was painful to ride in at the best of times. Had he worn in every day of his journey from Denerim? “We have some dire news from the capitol.” King Alistair eased himself from the saddle with much clanking of armor. As his feet hit the cobbles he stumbled and Astlyr caught his arm. This caused a fresh grimace.

“You're wounded? Do you need a healer?”

“No no,” he waved off her concern, straightening once again to manage what might have been a regal bearing had he not looked so tired. “Hannah, my squire, has seen to it.”

“Hannah?” Astlyr turned to see Jones charge forward towards one of the squires, who removed her helmet to reveal a blond braid and a round, smiling face. She too dismounted and was greeted by Jones with wild enthusiasm. “Inquisitor, this is my younger sister, Hannah!” Jones introduced, seeming to forget the illustrious company of their ruler in that moment.

Hannah stood a head taller than her older sister, and was the leaner of the pair, but their faces were so similar that, if put to the test, Astlyr wasn't certain she could tell one from the other by their features alone. The two women hugged, their armor clattering together as they did do. King Alistair, far from looking insulted by this display, fairly beamed. “Hannah told me she had sisters.”

“Quite a few more, actually,” the squire spoke as casually to her king as she would a fellow soldier. “This is my eldest, Esther. She's a guard here in Skyhold.”

“Guard Captain,” Jones puffed out her chest and showed off her armor a bit. Hannah raised her eyebrows in appropriate admiration.

“Sire,” Cullen was looking embarrassed on Jones' behalf, even though neither sister seemed one bit concerned about the king standing in their midst. “Would you care to retire into the fortress. It will take some time to barrack your men, but I suspect you have much to discuss with us.”

“Yes,” King Alistair shook off his distraction. “Hannah, Jeremy, see that the horses are taken care of, then meet me inside. Oh, and check on the queen, would you?”

“The queen?” Cullen looked, if possible, even more alarmed.

“Yes,” Alistair sighed with resignation, “my lovely wife is here as well. I left her back with the rest of the force as I wasn't certain you wouldn't shoot us. It is dark after all, and she does rather have issues with being shot.”

Dorian, who was standing back from the group, let out a little snort of laughter. Alistair found him and gave him a quick smile and nod. “Your majesties will have to have my quarters,” Astlyr decided. They were, after all, the largest and finest in Skyhold. She would have to share with her knight commander. Oh, what a hardship, she thought with a slight smile. “I'll have someone bring hot water for her majesty to bathe and recuperate while we talk with you.”

“That sounds splendid,” King Alistair said, not losing his jovial tone, even as he limped doggedly after Astlyr and her company.

The group went to Josie's office. It was private, but also had a fireplace and comfortable chairs. Cullen, as dutiful as any squire, helped King Alistair out of his armor. “We have an excellent healing mage who could fix that right up,” Astlyr gestured to the neatly bandaged wound on the king's sword arm.

“Perhaps later,” Alistair said, smiling a bit crookedly. He was looking her up and down, “I forget how tall your people are,” he observed. “I knew a male qunari once. He was a big fellow too. And stoic. Never cracked a smile, seemed to think it would break his face...ahhh, much better,” he exhaled as the last piece of armor was freed from him. He flopped down into a chair, ignoring the fact that he was sweaty, a little bloody, and had acquired the rank smell of one who spent days on the road in plate armor. Astlyr almost smiled at this. No one thought of kings being battle ragged. They were always supposed to be handsome and smell of roses.

Astlyr took up another chair, pulling it close to their guest, who almost seemed ready to fall asleep. Dorian had gone for food and warm drinks, but Astlyr wasn't certain that the king would be able to keep his eyes open long enough for the mage to return. She touched his knee, which made Cullen's eyes flick towards her. Touching the king was a special thing reserved for squires, fellow nobles, and his wife. For his part, Alistair did not seem to notice this small infraction, instead managing to sit up straighter and open heavily lidded eyes. “What happened, your majesty?” Astlyr asked, still sitting forward, her eyes intense.

“I'm going to sound mad for saying this,” King Alistair said with a rueful smile, rubbing his injured arm, “but the palace was attacked.”

“Attacked?!” Cassandra, who had been moving about the room, quietly putting more wood on the fire and stirring it to life, stood in alarm.

“Yes,” the king sighed, managing to look almost somber. He seemed to have a perpetual glint of mischief in his eyes no matter what he did. “Took us completely by surprise and we were forced to retreat.”

“Who would have dared attack the royal city and the palace itself?” Cullen asked, his hackles obviously raised.

“You won't believe it, but it was elves. A whole army of them.”

“Elves?” Astlyr met the eyes of her advisers with dark understanding.

The king cleared his throat and spoke again, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. “We have no idea where they came from, but they brought a dragon with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, Sera is back! And the king is here (as promised) But elves...elves and gods are a-comin'! What will happen next? Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter!
> 
> Just like with the Fen'Harel god discussion from last chapter, my hubby and I rp'ed the Cullen Astlyr conversation as well. I hope it feels in character for them both. My hubby was Cullen, and I was on Astlyr's side. No, we didn't film it. We improved while putting away groceries LOL
> 
> Ps. I still have yet to take the time to figure out where I got my chapter numbers fucked up. If you happen to notice when that happened, let me know! <3
> 
> Next: 8/13/15
> 
> Keep up to date with my author page here on FB: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> Help me out by checking out the first chapter of an exciting fantasy novel called "The White Rose" which I might work on after I finish Old Gods!  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/The-White-Rose-Chapter-one-sample-chapter-549484071


	37. Council of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy work day will be busy. Trying to get this chapter out for y'all before I go in. You're welcome! What can you look forward to today? More Alistair! Woot woot!

Part 34  
The Council of War

Before the king had a chance to further elaborate, Dorian re-entered the room bearing a tray of food and accompanied by the two squires, Jeremy and Hannah, as well as Fen'Harel. Astlyr raised an eyebrow at the elvish mage, who had donned a simple Skyhold tabard and was moving with an uncharacteristically submissive gait. His eyes flicked up to meet Astlyr's and he was unable to disguise the flicker of mischief in them.

“Your Highness,” Dorian was in rare form, flourishing about the room as he settled the food he had brought on Josie's little table. More misdirection, Astlyr guessed, so that Fen could easily slip in and, unobtrusive as any ordinary healer, see to the king's arm and listen in on the impending discussion.

King Alistair smiled with some amusement at Dorian and turned his attention to his squires for a moment. Both had removed their armor and stood in their blue gambisons. Astlyr was surprised to see that Jeremy was an elf. He was tall for one of his kind, and older than Hannah. Perhaps in his middle years, he had a lined and scarred face which belied an eventful existence. “How fares my bride?” the king questioned the pair.

Jeremy and Hannah shot one another knowing looks. “She is...displeased.”

“Ah. Yes. I imagined she would be,” the king did not seem the least bit concerned by this news, or the informal way his squires addressed him. Astlyr could see it made Cullen very tense.

“Are the accommodations not to her liking?” Cullen asked, still keeping his posture overly straight. It seemed that he, at least, was determined to show the respect befitting the royalty in their midst.

“Few things are every to her liking,” King Alistair said, taking the hastily made ham and cheese sandwich that Dorian had put together. “Thank you,” the ruler said politely. He turned back to Cullen. “She didn't spend her formative years sleeping on hard beds and enjoying nights without a proper meal. The ride to Skyhold did nothing for her usually sunny disposition.” By the grins that had found their way to the squire's faces Astlyr guessed that any rumors of Queen Anora's 'sunniness' were merely that.

She noted that Fen'Harel had been able to easily slip in and get to work with his magics. Alistair's wound was already almost fully healed. She had to admire Fen's cleverness. She cleared her throat. It appeared that she would have to be the one to keep everything on track. Even Cas seemed distracted in such illustrious company, and she had been right hand to the Divine. “Sire, we were discussing an attack on Denerim by elves?” Astlyr prompted.

“Yes,” King Alistair said around a mouthful of food. “Yes we were. As I told you, it was completely unexpected. I had only just gotten a few reports that members of the city watch were being jumped and killed. A few claiming to be witnesses asserted that these attacks were enacted by elves, but often people jump to those conclusions too hastily. Some of my best friends are elves,” the king clarified with a smile before continuing. “We had no concrete evidence as to who these attackers were, but they were efficient. Always making the kill and disappearing. We had just begun to investigate when an attempt was made on my life.”

“Someone tried to assassinate you?” Cassandra had snapped out of her quiet consideration. Her eyes had turned flinty and dangerous.

“They did,” Alistair said. “Would've had me dead to rights if old Jeremy here hadn't been so damn good at his job,” he gave his squire a beaming smile. Jeremy nodded and blushed faintly at the praise. “He saw the assassin off, but would you believe the next day there was this army of elves, just smack in the middle of our city? Marched in through the front gate no less.”

“The guard didn't sound the alarm?” Cas asked, her brows coming together. “The gates were not closed?”

For the first time the king looked somber. “I believe that a majority of the guard were slaughtered before they had a chance to raise the alarm. Killed by our city elves. The gates to the alienage have been kept open since the Blight ended. The elves encouraged to join the rest of the city's population whenever they pleased. We had no reason to fear. In ten years no attacks had stemmed from them, though they usually still kept to themselves and there had always been s small criminal element, there was nothing like this. We were, quite honestly, caught with our trousers down, and for that I will always feel a fool.”

“We had scouts in that area,” Cullen murmured, almost to himself. “They have not reported any such activity.”

“They haven't reported at all,” Astlyr pointed out. “Not since Sera returned. Sire, you mentioned a dragon?”

“Ah, yes. The swooping. I was getting to that bit,” the king said, falling back into a seemingly inescapable jovial tone. Astlyr wondered if his propensity for this ever made it difficult for him to pass judgments or laws. Perhaps his wife handled that end of things. It had been the queen, after all, who had approached Astlyr about becoming a Bann. “We might have stood a chance against the elves, even with our soldiers unprepared, but they seem to have called in a dragon, as well as a gigantic eagle. Between the two of those we didn't stand much chance.”

“Giant eagle?” Astlyr shot a surreptitious glance towards Fen, who did not look up to meet her eyes. For a moment her mind flashed what might have been a memory. A young elvish woman with a hawk on her shoulder. She let the memory go swiftly. “And there was only one dragon?”

“Yes, thank the Maker,” Alistair's brows shot up, “should there have been more?”

“Perhaps not,” Astlyr mused. Which dragon had it been? Mythal herself, or Morrigan, still held under the goddess' sway? Perhaps the mage had managed to flee from her captors. Astlyr cleared her throat, deflecting, “how did you escape?”

“I split my forces,” Alisatir explained. “I knew the city was for it. The dragon was already burning every roof in sight. “So, I put on my most kingly armor and rode out with some of my soldiers. We intended to draw the attention of the creatures as my other troops got as many civilians out of the city as they could. It worked...to and extent.”

“Where are your civilians now?” asked Cullen, “why not bring them to Skyhold?”

“Well,” King Alistair looked down at the cup of tea he'd been given, seeming slightly ashamed. “The ruse worked well enough. The dragon and company came after me all right, and we led them away from the city, even as it burned. I think many of the civilians did manage to get away, though I have no proof. However, my soldiers and I had nowhere to go, and we certainly couldn't fight a large army of elves and their flying monster companions and win. So we retreated to the only place I could think of that could withstand such creatures.”

“Not Redcliff? It's closer,” Cullen pointed out.

“It could handle the assault for a while, but it has little standing army, and it is a thriving fishing village rife with homes to burn.”

Astlyr felt her heart go cold in her chest, “so you led an army of elves, a dragon, and a giant eagle to Skyhold?”

“They're behind us by a good several days,” King Alistair said, as though this was meant to reassure. “At the very least. We are a mounted force, while they are on foot. To be honest, I am not certain they didn't just break off pursuit. We've had no sign of them in some time.”

It was as though the king's words had lit a match in Astlyr's mind. The flame was already growing, well on its way to becoming a bonfire. “Cullen, we need to prepare! I want the main gate shored up. I want the siege engines constructed and ready to go. I want triple watches on the walls and the soldiers ready for a siege. Make sure the outer walls are in good repair and plan locations for our own civilians to retreat. The elven temple might come in handy. Skyhold can take punishment, that's what it was built for, but I want it as ready as we can get it.”

Her words were sharp. Military, and too loud. For a few seconds no one moved. Everyone, even the king, staring at her with wide eyes. A shouting qunari was always alarming, even if you were used to it. Cullen was the first to snap out of his hesitation. “You heard the Inquisitor! Cassandra, we have work to do.” He gave Astlyr a smart salute and marched from the room like a true solider. Cas too stood straight, her expression determined, if a bit confused as she too departed.

“Fen,” she addressed the elf, who had finished his work and was standing demurely in a corner, “Please ensure that the infirmary is ready and stocked for wounded.”

She was dismissing him, and he got the hint. He bowed and departed, though his eyes caught and lingered on hers for a long moment as he did so. They would need to talk, and soon. “Dorian,” Astlyr turned to her friend. “Please find Josephine. She shall be in charge to seeing to the king and queen's needs during their stay.”

“I'll be helping you ready for battle, of course,” King Alistair stood, blue eyes flashing. There was a warrior in him, Astlyr realized, when it could be bothered to show itself. His expression was hardened by many battles and she recognized that look as one she often wore. She recalled then that he was a grey warden, and had been one of the people who had fought the Archdemon in the most recent Blight. He had seen good men fall, and rose up himself as the best of them. She met his determined gaze, warrior to warrior. Commander to commander. Strange equals on a strange field. Then he smiled a little lopsidedly. “I mean, if it suits you. It's your fortress.”

Astlyr tried to contain her own smile, but she saw that even the squires were even having trouble so she gave up. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go see to these preparations myself?” she asked.

“Actually, would you mind very much showing me where I'll be staying? I had a few more questions. If you're busy I understand.”

“No, no,” Astlyr reassured the man, “follow me. Will your squires be staying with you?”

“I think they had better. No offense meant to your security, but waking up with someone trying to murder me has set me a bit on edge.” The king explained, a bit sheepishly. He turned to Hannah and Jeremy, “see to my armor first, then meet me in our quarters.”

“Yes sir,” both chimed, gathering up the fallen pieces of golden armor from the floor. They even put some of the pieces on to making the carrying easier.

Astlyr led King Alistair out into the main hall of Skyhold. It was a stark contrast to how it had been only hours before. People bustled, chattering to one another. Some of the king's contingent would have to bed down in the hall. The barracks was full, as were most of the civilian quarters. To Astyr's pleasure, no one seemed distressed or panicked. Not yet at any rate. No doubt the royal soldiers had spread the word of what had caused their retreat from Denerim, and news would spread like wild fire in dry grass in the Skyhold rumor mill. Still, everyone carried themselves with a surprising amount of efficient calmness. This wasn't their first dragon attack.

“What was it you wanted to speak of?” Astlyr asked, moving slowly across the hall, passing before her disused throne. King Alistair raised an eyebrow at the needlessly ornate chair. She gave him an expressive shrug to make it clear that she certainly hadn't chosen it.

“That dragon,” Alistair said, tilting his head back for a moment to take in the vaulted ceiling of the main hall. “I've seen a fair few dragons in my days. More than I'd like, and I hear you are no stranger to the beasts, so I can tell you that the dragon I saw did not behave like a wild creature.”

Astlyr hesitated, then sighed, “I will admit that I suspected as much. It very likely is not a dragon. It's...a powerful mage.”

“No,” the king suddenly looked aghast. “Maker's breath, you can't mean Flemmeth?”

Astlyr blinked, confused. “You know Flemmeth?”

“Met her a couple of times, and traveled with her daughter.” Alistair explained.

“Morrigan? Of course! How could I forget the tales?”

“People do,” Alistair shrugged. “They have a hard time reconciling me, their shining, golden king,” he paused and struck a pose. Though he was older than Astlyr by a few years, he still had an ever present boyish glint in his eye, “-with the young warden fumbling around in the muck and always covered in Darkspawn blood and dog hair. Though to be honest, the dog hair is still a thing. I believe my squires will have set my mabari up in your stables.”

“The horses will love that,” Astlyr snarked. At least Smoke, as a war horse, had been trained to work together with dogs, though he had not had much opportunity to practice since Dennet had hand picked him as mount for the Inquisitor.

“So this dragon is Flemmeth then?” The king had stopped walking and they both stood together before the throne. Several times people stopped in their work to look at the two leaders, as though expecting a speech to break out at any moment. Astlyr had to keep gesturing them on with her hand.

“In a way,” Astlyr floundered. Was it worth it to explain that Flemmeth was actually an ancient god and that she now wore the skin of a male elf? No. Probably not. She thought of Fen's vehement desire not to have his identity revealed. While Astlyr was already building a strong liking for this odd man who was their king, she wasn't certain he was ready for elvhen gods. “I believe the mage we are dealing with is like Flemmeth. Able to change his form. But it seems this one is more dangerous if he's attacking our capitol city.”

“You're probably right. Flemmeth seemed to think living in a swamp was the best plan for her life,” the king folded his arms. He stopped, holding out his arm and flexing his hand, “Not bad,” he mused. “Your healer is very good!”

“He is,” Astlyr agreed, unable to contain a feeling of pride in her people. God though he was, Astlyr still could not think of Fen as anything but one of her own.

“So this mage,” the king pressed, “what is he doing with an army of elves? How does one even get an army of elves?”

Astlyr grimaced. “Why don't we retire to your quarters and I can try to explain this all more clearly?” Once again people were starting to gather expectantly.

“Right you are,” The King agreed and the two retreated to Astlyr's quarters.

Astyr spent at least an hour trying to clarify the issues they had been dealing with for much of their winter. Of reports of raided slave markets and emptied alienages. Of an assassination attempt on the empress.

“I heard about that,” Alistair had said. “I didn't know it was elves that drove the Empress into hiding.”

“Neither did we, for certain, but we were starting to suspect, what with all the other elven business going on.”

“So do you suppose they've finally had enough of being mistreated and they're coming to exact their revenge?” Alistair raised an eyebrow. His wife made a disgruntled sound. She had been listening intently and adding little, save for annoyed noises. The whole situation seemed to by completely outside her wheel house.

“I think that's the long and short of it, yes,” Astlyr sighed. “We still have no idea how they move an army from place to place with such speed, nor, in fact, how they managed to raise that army in the first place.”

“They didn't seem to be trained warriors,” Hannah, who had been sitting to one side, oiling the leather straps on some more practical battle armor, looked up from her work. “They didn't move in correct formations and they got in each other's way sometimes. I think that's how we managed to get such a lead on 'em. Besides the fact that we had horses, I mean.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jeremy, who was sitting on the floor using a special tool to repair a gap in a chain mail shirt which was spread across his knee. “They were fair enough fighters one on one, but as a unit they were clumsy. Untrained. The mages especially. A mage unit has to be carefully chosen and organized or you'll have trouble, and quick. I think a few of them even lit their fellows on fire.”

“We can use that to our advantage for certain,” Astlyr nodded her thanks to the two.

“Good observations,” the king praised his squires. Astlyr smiled. She was coming to like this man more and more.

After they had finished talking and Alistair had retired, Astlyr left the room feeling herself drag. As soon as she had closed the door behind her Josephine hurried over looking mortified. “Inquisitor! I am so sorry! I cannot believe that I slept through the warning bell! I shall never forgive myself! Here I am, your ambassador, and I was not ready to welcome the KING into our fortress!” she looked ready to shake apart with anger at herself.

Astlyr planted a heavy hand one of the woman's shoulders, “Be calm, Josie. Honestly, I don't think the king noticed. I was there to greet him, and Cullen made a good show of respect where I failed. Now his highness is comfortably installed in my quarters, and asleep, I might add,” she lowered her voice, so as to indicate the need for quiet.

Josephine still looked as flustered as a hen who'd been kicked across the yard. Her black curls, ever elegantly arrayed even after asleep, now seemed a bit frizzed. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and she wasn't even carrying her writing board. Astlyr held her firmly, trying to keep a smile from her lips. She'd never seen the woman looking so utterly distressed. “All is well, Josie. Make it up tomorrow by taking their majesties on a tour of the fortress. Make us look good.”

“Alright,” Josephine sniffed, giving the door to Astlyr's quarters one last, longing stare. She allowed herself to be steered back towards her office.

“We'll all talk in the morning,” Astlyr reassured her friend before parting ways. The hours' passing since she and the king had retreated to her rooms had seen much of the bustle in the great hall quiet. Beds had been found for soldiers. Food had been distributed, healing administered where needed. Astlyr caught sight of Audra and her people strolling amongst the sleepers like watchful mothers. The chief healer caught Astlyr's eye and gave her a nod to indicate all was well, at least for the night.

Astlyr trekked on. Outside, as a harsh night wind scooped down into the courtyard, people were still awake and working. The night watch was on the walls in droves, though some of the guard were down in the yard, already carrying great hunks of wood and metal from where they had been stored. Skyhold's siege engines had been packed away after the war, but now would be reassembled and calibrated to kill any who threatened the fortress's walls. Astlyr even caught sight of some of her building crew. Rogers, the dwarf, and a few of his hand chosen disciples, were strolling along at the base of the wall, seeking flaws by lamplight. She might have thought him daft for doing this at night, but she knew that time was of the essence and they needed to be as prepared as they could.

Heaving another weary sigh she felt the cruel fingers of the icy wind seek the thinnest parts of her clothing. She'd gotten herself a new cloak, but it did little in the midnight cold of a Skyhold winter night. She made her way slowly up the wall steps, noting that the guards on the walls had large braziers set out at intervals to keep warm. The mages had taken it upon themselves to keep these braziers blazing toastily. Astlyr smiled to herself. She had some good people, this much was certain. She wished that her reward for them was a happy, long life, rather than the threat of death at every turn.

In Cullen's rooms she found her man waiting up for her. He was attired in a warm woolen tunic and leggings and was attempting to work at his desk, though was obviously beginning to nod off.

They said nothing to one another. He stood, cross to her and kissed her before twining fingers in hers and leading her to the ladder. The pair climbed to his bed as the night draped itself thickly in around the fortress. Even its frigid grip could not find them this time. Astlyr had been certain to repair Cullen's roof.

~~~~~~~

“Ancient and angry elven 'gods' are coming? Here? Soon?” Blackwall had both bushy eyebrows raised so high they looked fit to abandon his brow and fly away.

“That is the long and short of it,” Astlyr nodded. She rested her weight back against the war table. On it a new special section had been set out. A map and crude model of Skyhold and the surrounding landscape. Even Astlyr had to admit, as she looked over the images and little wooden structure (which Blackwall had whittled and fitted together for them), that her fortress looked nigh unassailable.

“Oh I'm certain the story gets much longer than that,” Blackwall grouched, folding his arms.

“We're certain they're coming here?” Josephine asked. The diplomat looked slightly out of place standing amongst the experienced battlers of Skyhold. Astlyr had gathered her elite around her. All save Sera, whom she knew would add little but annoyed rambling to the discussion of tactics. As much as it pained Astlyr to do so, she had decided to keep the god issue from the elf. She could see no advantage in making Sera more alarmed and opposed to Fen'Harel than she already was. She still gave him a very wide berth and complained loudly whenever he was in the same room as she. He'd learned quickly to avoid her, lest she slip and reveal what he believed himself to be.

As usual, Cole was the oddest of those gathered, perching on a chair arm and remaining silent, he hid his face behind his hat's wide brim, but Astlyr could feel the warm sensation of his presence. He was there for her, if for no other reason. He was hardly one to talk strategy, but she knew he did not wish to be far from her and her inner circle of companions.

“It seems highly likely that they will seek out Skyhold,” Fen'Harel, sat in the corner with his fellow gods, and Myfanwy, who had been invited to attend this meeting of generals, but not to speak at it. Ghilan'nain looked particularly baffled, even though Fen and Dirthamen translated important topics for her. Fen went on, “he will see the fortress, and its residents, as an affront,” he met Astlyr's gaze. She knew that the god of Vengeance might have a few other reasons to attack her in particular. Not the least of which was the harm she and her people had done to him personally when last they had met. “I believe he wishes to cut off the head of Fereldan,” he nodded towards the king, who stood at the other side of the big table beside Cullen. The two men had been discussing tactics all morning with just a little too much pleasure to make Astlyr feel completely comfortable.

King Alistair looked up and rubbed his throat as though the enemy was coming for his head alone. “Oh good,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Where else would they go anyway?” Iron Bull pointed out. “We're the biggest dog left standing. They've got the Empress hiding away like a frightened rabbit, they've done whatever they did to the 'Vints. I imagine they'll leave the qunari alone for now. If they're going around trying to chop off the heads of the nations, we're it.”

“Lucky us,” Astlyr snarked, checking a troop roster and laying it on top of an ever growing stack of papers.

“We were wise to recall the army,” Cullen said, with a tone of pride.

“Our force combined with what his highness brought are almost too much for Skyhold to accommodate,” Cassandra pointed out. She stood back a bit, eying the map, hands resting on the hilt of her sword. “If we don't coordinate properly we'll be tripping all over ourselves.”

“Well then it is a good thing we have so many skilled military leaders here,” Astlyr gave her friend an encouraging smile.

“Have the builders been down to the temple to block that external entrance?” Cullen questioned, turning the model of Skyhold so he could see the other side.

“Rogers and his men are down there right now,” Astlyr affirmed. “They'll make sure no one can get in that way.”

“Not that they would anyhow,” Varric said. “The stairs are broken and the door comes right out of the side of a cliff.”

“Our foe does have dragons,” Cassandra pointed out.

“Ah. Yes. Never mind. Block up everything,” Varric agreed wholeheartedly.

“With a dragon and the giant eagle King Alistair mentioned, they will be able to attack us from all angles, but the army will be forced channel through here,” Cullen gestured with two fingers to the mountain pass which tapered down to meet the long bridge to the Skyhold's main gates.

“We'll have to protect the bridge well,” Astlyr leaned on her arm, her horns almost touching Cullen's forehead. “If they harm it in any way, they might not be able to get in, but we will be trapped as well.”

“I'm in favor of that not happening,” Varric said. He had pulled Bianca on to his lap and was tinkering with a few of her gears. Even the crossbow looked fighting fit. The strings were waxed, the moving parts well oiled.

“Do not forget the earth mages you have at your disposal,” Vivienne, who stood at the long end of the table, looked up from her own paperwork. “Well positioned mages could hold the bridge together under conventional assault, as well as repair it as needed. The walls as well. I have the enchanters fortifying the stones with magic as we speak.”

“To repair the bridge would require positioning which would put the mages in danger, as they would need to stand in full view on the wall, or even outside on the bridge,” Dorian mused, looking over Viv's shoulder as she organized her own magical force so as to best provide support for the soldiers.

“We would, of course, have barriers in place,” the elegant enchanter countered, indicating something on her page. The two fell into quiet but intense conversation.

Cullen glanced at Fen and his group, then shot a look towards the king. Astlyr nodded fractionally. She knew what the commander wanted to discuss. “We have our own...shape shifting mages,” he pointed out cautiously, gesturing to Fen and company.

“Can any of them turn into a dragon?” Alistair brightened.

“Sadly, we cannot,” Fen looked as though he was trying hard not to smile at the king's hopeful expression. “We may still be of use in that regard,” Fen'Harel fingered the foci that hung around his neck.

“You most definitely will,” Astlyr gave the elf a firm look. One thing was certain, if she was going to be faced with ancient gods in deadly forms, she was not going to bench the ones at her disposal. This was, after all, far more of their battle than hers. She was, technically, just one of the inferior, upstart races awaiting extermination. Though she had no intention of letting that happen.

“Excellent,” Cullen said, meeting Fen'Harel's eyes with no less of a dangerous expression. “I am uncertain how and when we will have need of you, so you will not stray far from the main commanders; myself, Astlyr and Cassandra.” He gave the gods no time for argument, even if they might have, instead turning back to the table. “We should position our trebuchet here and here, in the main yard, to threaten the army from the front. Hopefully they will be enough to keep any attacking force thinking twice about moving up to the bridge.”

“There are siege engine locations on these points of your wall, why not use them all?” Alistair mentioned, indicating the spots.

“Whatever weapon we place would be more vulnerable to dragon attack there,” Cullen correct him. “We are better off getting as many of our smaller, cheaper, ballista on the walls and all around the fortress as possible. They might not be as agile as we'd like, but they are a serious threat to a dragon, or other winged attacker.”

Astyr nodded her agreement, “Cullen, if you were attacking, how else would you assault Skyhold?”

The man considered for a long moment. “He wouldn't. He has too much sense,” Varric seemingly couldn't resist.

“Now master Tethras,” Josie scolded, “we are in a strong position, but we are not impregnable. Our standing army is likely considerably smaller than whatever these elves might bring to bear.”

“We're still a tough nut to crack,” Blackwall backed up Varric's assessment. “Thick walls, siege engines, and sheer cliffs on every side.”

“That creature you described, Astlyr,” Cullen met her eyes. “The one you freed when you almost died...is that likely to accompany the attacking force?”

“He is,” Fen'Harel spoke up. “I can tell from the drawings Myfanwy has done with your descriptions, and from the accounts you have given me, the creature is likely Elgar'nan himself. The All Father-” he hesitated, “The most powerful of the mages.”

“He doesn't fly,” Iron Bull pointed out. He was sprawled in a chair in the corner, out of the way, but listening intently.

“He could still do serious damage to the bridge or the main gate if he made a try for it,” Astlyr said.

“Right. He'll be a main target for the siege engines if he makes an assault,” Cullen confirmed.

“He may choose to remain high and in the rear,” Dirthamen spoke for the first time. “While he thirsts for vengeance, he also values himself and his personal safety highly. He will use caution. We cannot count on him to make a mistake.”

“Mythal is more likely to do so,” Fen'Harel said, his eyes downcast. “She will feel it her duty to help her people succeed.”

“What of the elves?” Astlyr turned to face the gods, her expression searching. “Could they be swayed? Could they be convinced to turn on these..mages?”

“Perhaps,” Fen'Harel said, though his tone was testy. She knew he would not come forward as a deity himself, even to save Skyhold. It rankled her, but she also understood that there was little she could do. She could claim to high heavens that he was the Dread Wolf, but she had no proof if he did not cooperate. She settled for fixing her friend with a stern stare indicating that she expected him to be at his best in the coming battle.

“Keep in mind that our foot soldiers will be of little use unless the walls are breached,” Cullen diverted attention back from the talk of gods. “Or if we feel we have enough advantage to push out of the fortress.”

“We also have the guard,” Cassandra said, selecting another, much smaller sheaf of papers. “They know the fortress better than our soldiers, and we can use this to our advantage if the walls are breached.”

“I want to keep the guard as a reserve,” Astlyr said, taking the papers and shuffling through them, though only skimming the information. She knew the guard to be the healthiest and halest of their force. The army had had to travel back to Skyhold in winter, and some had not fared as well as others, but Skyhold's own were hearty and ready for action. “They don't have the training to win in a full out skirmish, but in an emergency they'll be able to reinforce, not to mention they know how to operate all of the siege engines.”

“Right,” Cullen agreed, fiddling with some of the small figures he had placed inside the model Skyhold. Each represented a unit of soldiers. “Is there anything else we need to discuss.”

“We need to inform the people,” Blackwell said, his tone practical. “They should know what they might face,”

“Agreed,” Astlyr said, though she did not relish the notion of what she must do. “Each commander will inform their units of pertinent information only.”

Josephine raised her quill for attention. “You should also speak to them, as their Inquisitor.”

Astlyr let out a little groan, “speeches? You know I'm no good at that sort of thing.”

“The people need to see that their leader is behind them. Or...perhaps in front of them, in your case,” the diplomat said, firmly. “They must feel that their Inquisitor is confident and watching over them.”

Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck. “Alright. A short speech.”

“Something rousing. I know you're a qunari, but try to keep the incoherent roaring and waving the head of your latest slain foe on a spike to a minimum,” Varric shot her a grin and she wished she could take a playful swing at the dwarf. Iron Bull made a half-hearted try, but the nimble story teller dodged easily.

The meeting hung on for another half hour as the group discussed roles and contingencies. Iron Bull wasn't pleased that he and his Chargers would be kept back, only attacking should the walls be breached or if the need arose to leave the fortress, but he managed to keep his displeasure to a minimum.

The meeting drew to a close with everyone feeling nervous but determined. Cole was the first to leave, teleporting out with a rush of smoke and cold air, but Astlyr was certain he could return when she needed his support. The King stared confusedly at the spot where the boy had stood for a long moment before shaking his head and returning to his conversation with Josephine, who planned to show the king and his grumbling spouse around the fortress.

Blackwall announced loudly that he intended to drink, which prompted Varric to verbalize his own plans to join in. “Come on, Puppy,” the dwarf gestured to Myfanwy, who followed him with an air timidity. It was clear she felt out of place with the generals and wasn't certain how to behave. “We'll have a nice meal and a game or two of Wicked Grace and all this will seem less bleak.”

Fen'Harel remained with Astlyr and advisers. Dirthamen hung back with Ghilan'nain, still trying to make her understand the situation. Astlyr inwardly wondered if the goddess might have chosen to be on the enemy side, had she not been rescued by Fen. Did she long for worship as so many of the others seemingly did?

Once the king and the rest of the group had departed Cullen turned to the three elves, folding his arms, “Alright. Tell my truthfully. Can these creatures be slain?”

“Yes,” Fen'Harel affirmed, though he winced when Cullen referred to his fellow gods as 'creatures'. “Just as I can. If you were to draw your sword and stab it into my heart right now, I would die, the same as any mortal.”

“But it is unlikely that he will remain dead for long,” Dirthamen interjected. “We are seldom without our contingencies, and Fen'Harel never is.”

“Always have an escape route,” Astlyr looked at the elf she had come to know as her friend, however much she might not trust him.

“Yes,” Fen admitted. “It is probable that Elgar'nan will have a plan. He will have tucked part of his soul away, perhaps, but he will have his foci with him. Without that he will be unable to revive once we have killed him in his current body. He will be severely weakened. No longer a threat to Skyhold or its inhabitants.”

“But first we have to slay them,” Cassandra said, her grip tightening noticeably on her sword's pommel.

“We will,” Astlyr assured her friend. Her own hands were balled into fists. A thought struck her. She raised her left palm to the group, “don't forget that we have rifts on our side now. We could drop demons on the enemy, just like we did to the Venatori.”

Fen'Harel made a small sound and Astlyr met his gaze to see him shake his head, “the ones we face are also adept in the workings of the Fade. These are no ordinary mages. While unable to open rifts as Astlyr does, they may be able to manipulate them, or to turn the spirits within against us.”

Astlyr lowered her hand, feeling foolish, though she did not know why. How was she supposed to know about these gods and their Fade magics? Part of her wondered how much Fen himself could control her rifts, or the monsters that poured from them. He had never done so, to her knowledge, so she suspected what he might achieve would be too little too late. Demons would already be trying to chew off his leg.

“How many gods are we expecting exactly?” Cullen questioned, drawing the topic back to focus. He was still tinkering with troop locations within Skyhold and Astlyr had to bite back a chuckle.

“Elgar'nan and Mythal, of course,” Fen'Harel said, selecting two carved dragon figures from the larger map. He placed them in the sketched mountains before Skyhold. “June. He will be dangerous, but not nearly so much as Mythal and her husband.”

“Husband?” Cassandra cocked an eyebrow.

“Mythal and Elgar'nan are married, and Andruil, goddess of the hunt, is their daughter,” Astlyr explained.

Cullen and Cas looked up at her, “I didn't know you had been studying the elven pantheon,” the Seeker said, impressed.

Astlyr hesitated. How had she know that? She couldn't remember reading it, but perhaps Fen or Myfanwy had mentioned it during their travels. Maybe she had read it, in an old tome or inscribed on a carving in her travels during the war with Corypheus. Those days and adventures were beginning to blend and muddle together in her mind as new dangers clamored for her attention. “Who else?” she asked Fen'Harel, hoping to distract her friends, and herself, from her sudden knowledge.

“We saw June find the foci of Falon'Din, the god of death. It is likely he has been revived. His abilities with the dead rival any that live within the world today. At least that I have encountered.”

“Falon'Din is my brother,” Dirthamen said, his voice quiet, as though he was embarrassed to admit this.

“Will he willingly attack his sibling here in Skyhold? Might he be swayed?” Cullen asked. He was watching Dirthamen intently now, obviously suspicious. If Astlyr was honest, she was uncertain of this 'god of secrets' as well. Could he not just as easily turn to the side of the enemy? Only his words assured her that he would not. Should she keep him back, away from the combat? Could she if he decided to lash out?

Dirthamen had turned his dark eyes to Astlyr, searching her face, and obviously guessing her concerns. “I could try to convince my brother to refuse to fight. I am unlikely to succeed. We...did not part on the best of terms. His ambitions were always quite different from mine. He is my sibling in blood alone, and,” he glanced down at himself, “I'm not even certain I can claim that any longer. He brought his gaze back up to level with Astlyr's, “I know of your fears. I am a newcomer to this place, and this time. You have no proof of my loyalty.” He reached behind his neck and after a moment managed to untie the leather string he wore. He extended it to Astlyr. “A peace offering?”

Fen'Harel winced, “without your foci your power will be greatly reduced.”

“And as I am no mage, I will be of little harm to these people,” Dirthamen said, still holding the key on its necklace towards Astlyr.

She took it, careful only to touch it with her right hand, though her left palm still prickled. “Thank you, Dirthamen. I will keep this well, and I will return it to you when the time comes. You have my word.”

“Your word is all I need,” Dirthamen bowed his head.

“You're very trusting,” Cassandra said, looking skeptical, and just as suspicious as she had before.

“The spirits speak highly of your Inquisitor,” Dirthamen smiled, once again managing to make his new, homely face look pleasant and friendly. “I trust them above all things.”

“Alright,” Cullen sighed, pushing himself back from the map. “I think we had all best report to our soldiers and give them the information they will need to win this fight.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra said, moving towards the door, though her eyes still lingered on Dirthamen.

The three leaders, followed by the three gods, exited the war room together. Astlyr glanced sideways at Fen who had to hurry his stride to walk beside her. “Are you alright?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

“No,” he whispered back, smiling ruefully. “But it matters little.”

“It matters,” Astlyr reassured her friend. “This whole situation must be very taxing for you.”

“You are most kind to think of me. There are times I wish that we had faded, as I believe was intended. Our time was over had I had not saved us. The Age of the elvhen gods is long passed, yet the gods linger like memories best forgotten. The Age of the dragon must go on.”

“I wouldn't want to forget you.”

He hesitated, seemingly caught off guard by her words. “You...” he began walking again, carefully eying Cas and Cullen, who were talking animatedly to one another and doing their best not to listen in to Astlyr's conversation. “You have been a true friend to me. Better than I deserve by far.”

“Damn right,” Astlyr nudged him with her arm. “Just don't vanish on me again when I need you, alright?”

“I will not leave you without warning again. You have my word.” Fen said, smiling wanly.

Astlyr and her company stepped out onto the main stairs overlooking the courtyard. Astlyr was struck by a feeling of deep nostalgia. Once a qunari woman, hardly recognizable as the Inquisitor, had stood in this spot and raised a sword above her head. A symbol of what she was, and more importantly, what she would become. She looked down at the gathering soldiers, the readying men and women at her command. They stopped in their work, looking up towards her. She tried to make out individual faces. To her pleasure, she could. Her building crew was there, and some of the guard she knew. A few of the healers and kitchen staff had been out, serving a lunch of warm stew to all. She was pleased to see the slight figure of the helpful elf from the kitchens. She would need to learn his name, she realized as she took in his trusting face.

She felt a surge of confidence for the first time that day. They believed she could succeed. They believed they could. Succeed they had done, and succeed they would, again and again against all comers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> War is coming. War is on it's way...  
> (Stars singing)  
> INTO THE DARKNESS  
> WE WILL RUUUUUN!  
> *Ahem* Sorry. Yeah. Angry elves are coming, but don't worry because we have a plan and a tiny model of Skyhold. Plus we have gods of our own right? Well, at least one... Save us Fen!
> 
> Astlyr and Alistair would get along waaaaay too well. Good thing he only had a cameo in the game. Cullen seems to have calmed down a little bit about the whole "king standing right there!" thing.
> 
> Next: 8/20/15
> 
> Keep up to date on FB  
> https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> I know, I'm a broken record, but feel free to stop over at DA and check out the first chapter of an original fantasy story  
> The White Rose Chapter 1  
> http://juliangreystoke.deviantart.com/art/The-White-Rose-Chapter-one-sample-chapter-549484071


	38. Astlyr of Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official, kids! I have written the ending. I have, with a deep sense of joy and sadness intermingling, written the words "the end". You guys are only a few chapters away. Maybe, if my life stops being so dang busy, I'll have time to edit them and you can have them faster than once per week. We'll see. But rest assured, the end is not only in sight, it's even been written down!
> 
> I apologize if there are more typos in this chapter than usual. I edited kinda fast because work has been kicking my ass and totally getting in the way of my fantasy life again. It needs to stop this.
> 
> Now that you have listen to me ramble for far too long, please enjoy the chapter!

Part 38  
Astlyr of Skyhold

 

“Gather the soldiers and the guard in the courtyard!” Cullen roared in his best commander's voice.

“The Inquisitor wishes to address her troops!” Cassandra barked.

Astlyr chuckled. With these two around did she really need to say anything? She watched as people gathered before her in the courtyard. Soldiers forming ranks at the command of their captains, the guard finding places around the edges and watching from the walls. She caught sight of Guardswoman Jones. Her unit had managed a meager formation. As more and more men and woman poured and packed into the courtyard Astlyr felt her nerves getting the better of her. She was never one for making speeches. Now if this were the middle of a pitched battle she could shout orders at them without a second thought, but this? She did her best to stand straight, to look the part. No doubt she impressed, tall and be-horned as she was. She wore simple armor, not her full battle attire, but her sword and shield were strapped at her hip and back.

She felt a rush of cold air behind her and knew Cole was with her. She felt his cool, reassuring presence. Then something nudged her hand. She glanced down, surreptitiously. Cole was guiding Cullen's hand to hers. The commander was blushing again, but he took the hint and firmly laced his fingers with Astlyr's, though he angled his body so the soldiers below would have a difficult time seeing this gesture. He did not want to diminish her strength by appearing to provide it. She wished she could stop everything and kiss him.

Fen'Harel stood stoic at Astlyr's other side. Though he did not speak, it was obvious he felt he owed the people of Skyhold something. If nothing else, someone to blame for whatever trials might befall them. Certainly the people knew he had something to do with the goings on of late, as his appearance in their midst had seemed to trigger odd events and treacherous quests for their Inquisitor.

The courtyard was packed. Even King Alistair had stopped his tour and stood below with the queen. Cullen's hand tightened on hers and Astlyr felt Cole behind her, offering his support as her Spirit Companion. She cleared her throat. At least, if she couldn't be well spoken, she could be loud. 

“People of Skyhold...I am your Inquisitor.” She winced. She was not off to a good start. Yet everyone set up a cheer at her words, as if the announcement of the obvious was somehow inspiring. She almost laughed, but managed to contain it, gesturing with her free hand for them to fall silent. “People of Skyhold,” she tried again. “Your commanders will soon be briefing you on the specifics of the upcoming battle, but I...I wanted to take a moment to speak with you all. I wanted to let you know that this fight...” she hesitated, uncertain. She wished Cullen or Cas would jump in and save her, but she knew they could not. “This fight will be a challenge. We have never had to defend our fortress...our home, from attack before. We were able to take the fight to Corypheus. In this case, however, we must stand. We must defend. We must protect our home.” This speech was going to be pointless indeed, she thought ruefully, if the 'gods' decided not to attack them after all. She swallowed and pressed on. “We have fought against some terrible creatures in our time. Dragons, false gods, lyrium corrupted templars.” She glanced at her own small templar contingent, standing with the much larger group of battle-ready mages. She was surprised to see Titus standing with them, in uniform, helmet tucked neatly under his arm. His pale, freckled face wore an expression of determination. She smiled inwardly. This battle would be nothing compared to the war he had fought, and would fight, with himself and his addiction.

“One thing I have learned about the people of Skyhold in my time with them-” Astlyr spoke more confidently now. “In my battles with them at my side. The people of Skyhold are strong.” she raised a fist. To her immense relief a roar went up from the crowd and more fists were pumped into the air. She heard The Chargers whoop especially loudly “The people of Skyhold are diverse!” another raised fist, another loud cheer. “And the people of Skyhold will never give up!” Another cheer, “and we will never back down! And we will never surrender!”

The courtyard was lost to shouts and calls so loud that Astlyr felt certain the enemy could hear it, no matter how far off they were. Her heart lifted. Whatever Elgar'nan thought he was about to face, she suspected he was in for a rude surprise. This fortress would not be caught unawares and it would not easily fall. He had fought her before and won. Never again. She grinned fiercely.

~~~~~~

Astlyr stamped grit and snow from her boots, brushing crystalline flakes from her shoulders as she dipped her head to enter the tavern. With the evening cold had come snow, falling in fat, almost pleasant flakes. A few of Skyhold's youngsters had escaped their parents and were out making snow dragons before the fresh dusting was stamped to nothingness under the feet of the soldiers.

The muted warmth of the tavern welcomed the Inquisitor like the smile of an old friend. As she stood for a moment relishing the sensation, she took in the company. She had called her friends together for a 'family dinner', declaring that it had been too long since they had last gathered. It had been a bit of an ordeal to have the tavern cleared of the loud and boisterous soldiers which kept the place filled to the rafters at all ours for the past few days.

Now a lively game of Wicked Grace was already under way, which looked to rival the soldiers in volume and crude language.

“Pointy!” Of course Varric would be the first to greet her, waving his arm to draw her towards the gaming table. “I'll deal you in!”

“I'll catch the next one,” she assured her friend with a chuckle.

“If there is a next one,” Josie smirked, making a show of stretching her hands before her with fingers interlaced.

“Your winning streak is at an end, dear lady,” Dorian warned, cocking an eyebrow.

“Are you going to take that from him?” Blackwall asked Josephine. He was rewarded by a highly flirtatious expression over the top of her cards.

“Hey! No alliances!” Iron Bull scolded.

Astlyr shook her head and moved further into the room, her eyes scanning the familiar place for all the faces of her closest friends and companions. Cullen was sitting with Cas. He stood up as Astlyr drew near, moving to indicate a chair he had saved for her at his table. “In a moment,” she assured her man. “I want to say hello to everyone first.”

“I'll be waiting,” he managed to give her a meaningful grin before blushing. She chuckled as she heard Varric snort with laughter. Count on the dwarf to be paying attention to everything, even while playing cards.

“She needs a drink!” Sera announced. Astlyr looked around, confused, then peered upwards. Sera sat on the tavern's darker second floor, dangling her legs down past the railing. She gestured to Astlyr with an obviously full mug, and some of the liquid within splashed, almost dousing the Inquisitor.

“You're probably right,” Astlyr agreed, shooting a look towards the barkeep, who nodded and set about fixing her favorite drink. She walked on, seeking under the overhang beside the roaring fireplace. Vivienne did not seem to have arrived yet, but Myfanwy was there, speaking with Fen'Harel at a quiet table in a dim corner. As Astlyr approached both elves looked up and greeted her. “I'm not interrupting am I?”

“No,” Myfanwy said, resting forward on her elbows. “We had just finished out conversation.”

Astlyr shot one more look about the room, her eyes seeking Cole. Some part of her knew him to be present, though she was not certain where. Perhaps he was visiting his old haunt at the top level of the tavern. He would come down when it suited him. She wasn't worried. She slid a chair out to sit with the elves, “I'm surprised you're not playing in the card game,” she addressed Myfanwy. Since becoming friends with Varric the elf had been more engaged with the others as well. She still kept to herself much of the time, and wore her feelings close to the belt, but Astlyr had begun seeing her around Skyhold, chatting or helping where she might not have before.

“I just wanted to have a talk with My Lord,” Myfanwy explained. “Because of all that has been happening, and all we have learned. Lord Fen'Harel has been explaining to me more of what the gods are, and what they were.”

“I notice you're still calling him 'My Lord',” Astlyr pointed out, though not unkindly.

“A difficult habit to break,” Myfanwy admitted. “He does not ask me to call him that,” she added hurriedly.

“I know,” Astlyr gave Fen a quick, affirming smile. Then she turned back to Myfanwy. “This whole adventure since...you lost your brother, must have been especially hard for you. I cannot imagine how Cullen or Cassandra would handle it if their Maker turned out to merely be an exceptional human.”

Myfanwy shook her dark curls, “Our gods are more than merely exceptional elves, but I know what you mean. They are not gods in the way we have always thought. Our worship was horribly misplaced. Twisted by time and lack of understanding.”

“Once,” Fen'Harel's voice had a hoarse edge, “Once I blamed the Dalish for it. I blamed the very people I wanted to help and save for believing what they did when their 'gods' vanished and left them with nothing but memories and subjugation by humans. Our treatment of The People was abominable, and mine no less so. I carried myself with such pride, thinking myself superior for refusing to keep The People as my adoring slaves, but I wounded them all the more with my disdain.” he turned to Myfanwy, “I beg your forgiveness.”

The woman blinked in surprise and even Astlyr was slightly taken aback by his admission. She couldn't imagine Solas saying such a thing to anyone. Had he grown to this understanding, or had it always been there, just under the surface?

“Thank goodness I found friends here in the Inquisition,” Myfanwy said. “I cannot imagine learning all this without company to keep me sane. My brother and I were alone for so long, avoiding humans and Dalish alike. It is good to belong again. I barely remember our clan, I left it when I was so young.”

“We can be your clan now,” Astlyr said, kindly.

“No,” Myfanwy shook her head again, but she was smiling. “I can't think of it that way any more. I'm not Dalish. Not in the way I used to be and will never be so again. My brother was Dalish. He gave himself up to his god without question. I still value my gods, my faith and my family, but I have begun to question my world as my mother and father never taught me.”

“Is that good?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow. Truth be told she felt somehow guilty. Had she aided in the destruction of someone's innocence? Had they deprived a good person of her faith?

“It is...a truth about me,” Myfanwy shrugged. “It is frightening, and alarming, but freeing,” she turned her smile, which trembled at the edges but held strong, on Fen'Harel. He reached out and placed his slim hand atop hers. Astlyr was struck again by how similar they looked. Sometimes she could forget what Myfanwy's brother had sacrificed, but looked at the two now made her heart twinge. She cleared her throat. This was supposed to be a happy time of reconnection before a battle. A 'puppy pile' Sera had once called it. “I had better go...mingle? Is that what people do?”

“I believe that is the term,” Fen'Harel laughed, taking his hand from Myfanwy's and sitting back, looking more relaxed.

As Astlyr passed the bar she was handed her favorite drink and swigged heartily as she moved back to where Cas and Cullen were chatting. She shot a glance towards the game, which was getting noisier by the second. “Andraste's flaming tits, how did you pull of that hand, Ruffles?! You've got cards hidden up those fluffy sleeves, admit it!”

“How goes the evening?” Astlyr found a spot with her two commanders. She noted that they had arranged utensils to form a battle scene. She gestured to Cullen's tankard, “is this Skyhold?”

“A very poor approximation, yes,” Cullen nodded. He ran a hand along his chin, studying. “Cassandra is representing the enemy forces and telling me what she would do, were she in the place of this 'Elgar'nan' character.”

“As I said, I would place siege engines here on this ridge.”

“Does he have siege engines?” Astlyr cocked an eyebrow.

“We have no way of knowing. Simply because the king did not see any, does not mean they are not there.” the seeker said, arranging a fork to stand for a row of soldiers.

“Alright,” Astlyr said, “this is silly. We have a war room for this. We're supposed to be here for a family dinner before battle comes knocking at our doorstep. She sat back in her chair, rocking onto its rear two feet as she called out towards the bar. “Merridan? Are you back there?”

To her surprise the bard did appear when bidden. She didn't even look as though she had been wakened from asleep. “What is it, Inquisitor? Something I can play for you?” Tonight she carried a fiddle and she rested it against her chest as she awaited instruction.

“Anything lively. I need to get these two up and moving.”

“Wait, what?” Cullen raised his head, an alarmed look in his eyes.

“You've driven me to this. All business all the time.” Astlyr scolded playfully.

The bard grinned and began to pluck the strings of her fiddle for the beginning of a lively song. The card players looked up, already smiling appreciatively. Even Cas was wearing a smile, try as she might to hide it. She stood first, setting aside her silverware battle scene. “Come along Commander. We'll teach you a simple country dance,” she urged.

Cullen shot a dark look towards Astlyr before letting out a dramatic groan and standing to take Cas's offered hand. “Only if Astlyr has to learn it to,”

“Of course I do,” she laughed, joining them in the open area before the fireplace as the bard switched to bowing, the tune picking up a joyous, rollicking pace.

The three of them, hands linked together in a line followed, Cas's feet as she demonstrated a simple circle jig. “Not bad,” Varric called. “Pick up your feet a bit more, Pointy. Hey, Curly, look up at us, not the floor!”

“Get over here, you!” Astlyr shouted to Varric.

“I'm in the middle of a hand.”

“Do not make me come get you!” Cassandra threatened.

“Maker, wouldn't want that. Some book could get stabbed,” the dwarf made a show of setting his cards aside hastily. “If any of you look at my hand Cole will know, and he'll tell me.”

“I will?” Cole's voice came from above them like the haunting call of a ghost.

As Astlyr struggled to keep up with the pace of the song, and also not tread on anyone's toes in the process, she sent a powerful thought Cole's way. In a blink he stood before her. “You need me to help...by dancing?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes Cole. It will make everyone feel happy.” she panted as she watched Cassandra and Varric, who were clearly the best at this particular dance. She managed to kick up her heels, though when she landed she feared the a lantern behind her might shake down onto the floor. She held out her free hand to the boy who, still looking baffled, took it in his icy one.

Cole, it turned out, was a disastrous dancer. It did make Astlyr feel a bit better about herself though. Unable to focus on the steps, the boy was also struggling to read everyone in the room at the same time. She could see his mouth moving rapidly as he awkwardly jerked about, one step behind the rest of the group, and sometimes seemingly doing a different dance entirely. “Alright. This is painful to watch,” Dorian laughed, rescuing Cole. “You've done well, young man, but let a professional have a try. You go keep my cards safe.”

“I'm already keeping Varric's cards safe,” Cole allowed himself to be led from the dance.

“You can do both. I believe in you.” the mage slid in to Cole's spot, taking Astlyr's hand. It was odd to go from Cole's freezing hand to Dorian's warm, but still pleasant. He took a moment to pick up the steps and then was dancing as though he had been born to this dance.

The door to the tavern opened and Vivienne finally joined them. She took in the scene as she brushed snow from her elegant robes. While she tried to maintain a look of disgust at the antics of her fellows, but her eyes twinkled as she watched, moving past them to the bar for her own drink. “Give me a moment to settle in, and I shall teach you all a dance worth knowing,” she called over her shoulder.

Soon the fast, country ditty was over, but another tune was struck at once. This one slower, though no less pleasant. Blackwall rose and bowed from the waist, extending a hand to Josephine who giggled, making everyone else look at her in surprise. She blushed faintly as she settled her hand gently in Blackwall's calloused one. He led her onto the floor, one hand behind his back as though he had been doing courtly dances all his life.

Everyone stepped back to watch for a moment as the pair spun slowly around the floor. Astlyr wondered if the pair found time to dance together in secret, for now they moved as though they had always been partners. Even Sera stopped sloshing ale down onto the dance floor to watch. Myfanwy and Fen'Harel came out of their corner, appreciating the dancers. “Come, M'gel, a quick lesson,” Dorian urged.

“Er...” was all Astlyr managed as her friend grasped her fingers and gave her a twirl, though he had to let go of her for a second to avoid her horns. Then he placed his hand on her waist and guided her through the steps. Thought Astlyr was concentrating on her feet, she managed to look up to see Cassandra teaching Cullen as well. 

Even Viv got in on the dance, announcing, as she extended a hand to Iron Bull, that if one qunari could be taught to dance, why not both. Iron Bull did not protest. He never did when it came to the enchantress. Soon his bulk took up much of the floor.

Varric moved to extend his own invitation, “I see you there, Puppy, looking like you'd rather die than miss out on this dance. Let's go.”

The elf glided nimbly onto the floor with Varric. Soon the two were giggling as they struggled to pick up the steps from watching the other dancers.

Once Dorian was satisfied that Astlyr would, at the very least, not break the foot of her partner, he handed her off to Cassandra's pupil. Then he made a show of limping from the dance floor. Astlyr winced inwardly as she watched him go. She had tread on his toes several times, though she had managed not to step down hard.

Now Cullen slid his palm against her waist and took her hand as they finished out the dance together with a minimal amount of awkward missteps. “You should know, I am still doing this dancing business under protest,” the templar pretended to gripe, as the two managed to move about the floor. Blackwall and Josie skillfully avoided them, though once they almost collided with Iron Bull.

“I could have ordered you, you know,” Astlyr pointed out as she managed to go several moments without getting a step wrong. She even darted her eyes up from the floor to look at her man's face. Looking at him now felt like home. All of this felt like home. No longer did her mind stray to a little cabin where a life of solitude and raising goats was all that waited. The only action the chasing off of the occasional bandit. Now all she saw were a pair of golden eyes and a scarred smile.

The song ended and Cullen finished strong with a kiss, though he did not dare attempt to dip her as Blackwall did with his delighted partner. Astlyr was grateful, as she suspected she would have ended up on the floor.

Another song began, this one faster, intended for everyone. They managed to form a circle and a few simple steps were learned. Soon the lot of them were whirling this way, then the other. They made such a ruckus that the barkeep looked fit to run and hide, though the bard whooped and cheered as best she could while fiddling. She stamped her foot enthusiastically as the group circled, came together, moved back apart. Even Fen'Harel found a place in the dance, though Cole was contended to watch. Sera finally came down from her perch and took up a spot beside Blackwall, with whom she maintained a friendship, even in these strange times.

When this dance was over the group collapsed into chairs panting and laughing in turns. Astlyr took in each face, alight with merriment and energy. Cassandra shoved Varric's shoulder fondly. Viv dained to perch on a chair beside Iron Bull. Even she was unable to hide her good mood. Perhaps she too was feeling at home in Skyhold. More than any tower or worldly Orlesian court. At least here she had the respect of her fellow mages, and no one tried to kill her if she wore the wrong shoes that morning. The title of Skyhold's First Enchanter fit her like a glove.

Astlyr sighed, feeling Cullen's arm go around her shoulders. She nestled into it, meeting Cole's eyes across the room. While he looked far from happy, she was able to detect his true mood beneath the down-turned mouth and gloomy stare. He could not feel the groups happiness, but he could certainly sense a decided lack of pain, fear, or anger in this moment. She gave him a big smile and he returned his flickering fleeting one which she knew and loved.

Then the door to the tavern opened again. One of the guard stood there, snow dusted and looking extremely uneasy. “Madam Inquisitor,” the man said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He was clearly terrified to interrupt.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Astlyr stood at once, shedding Cullen's arm from around her. She knew that this guard would not have come if the situation did not require her immediate attention.

“It's Dirth, ma'am. He's asking for you, urgently. He says he also needs Fen and Cole.”

Astlyr shot a quick glance towards Fen'Harel, who had been laughing along with the rest, but now looked somber and worried. The elf stood, crossing to stand beside Astlyr, “what is the matter. Is he unwell?”

“He just told me to fetch you. He yelled it, actually.” the guard admitted, looking down.

“Alright. I'm coming,” Astlyr said, moving to the door and taking her cloak down from a peg. “Fen, Cole?” Both were beside her before she finished saying their names.

“Do you need help?” asked Cullen, who had also taken to his feet, following half way across the room.

“No. We'll soon have this sorted,” Astlyr assured her lover. “We'll be back for the rest of the family dinner shortly, I hope. Carry on without us until then.”

“Alright,” Cullen said, though there was an uneasy edge to his voice. She could tell it was taking a lot of will power for him to go back to his seat beside Cassandra and Varric. His eyes didn't leave her as she and her two companions departed the tavern.

Outside the snow was falling heavier. The flakes were so plump and fluffy that they almost seemed to land with soft sounds on their shoulders and hair. Astlyr knew little tufts were already forming along her horns as she followed the guard into Skyhold. She glanced at Fen, who walked silently and slightly behind her. “Any idea what's going on?”

“Only hunches,” the elf answered. “I know nothing more than you do.”

She guessed he must be honest in this. She could see the tension in his gait and the concern shining in his eyes. The guard led them to the room of this latest elven god. While it was watched over by a second guard, the non-mage Dirthamen did not require a templar to stand watch. Astlyr did not bother knocking, pushing the door open, her eyes searching a dimly lit room for the man.

“Dirthamen, what is it? Are you well?” Fen asked urgently, stepped into the room past Astlyr.

The god of secrets was sitting in one of his chairs near a guttering fire. His eyes were closed, hands folded in his lap. He did not react to the company. Cole blinked into the room to stand beside the man. “He's in the Fade.”

“Dirthamen,” Fen'Harel knelt before his friend and gently nudged his knee.

“Try kicking him in the shin,” Astlyr said, glancing around the spartan little room. It was like Fen'Harel's, but had no anteroom as Fen's had for Myfanwy.

Dirthamen blinked, dark eyes opening and focusing slowly. “Ah, Astlyr, you came! I am sorry to interrupt your festivities, but there is something which needs your immediate attention.”

“What is it?” Fen was tense, even jumpy. Astlyr wondered at this. She was not used to such an attitude from him. She glanced sideways at Cole, but the boy volunteered no information, instead moving back a bit, withdrawing to the long shadows in the room.

“Should I light some candles?” Astlyr offered.

“There is no need,” Dirthamen stayed her, then looked back to Fen'Harel. “Be calm friend, all will be well.”

“Tell me what is going on,” Astlyr said, testily.

“Ah, of course. I am sorry. One of my Fade spirit friends found me and informed me that Elgar'nan has arrived.”

“Arrived?!” Astlyr moved towards the door too quickly and toppled a small end table with her hip. “Now? Why haven't the guards-”

“He is still some distance from the fortress. He has set up his army's camp out of sight behind a mountain rise. I have made contact with him in the Fade. Convinced him to speak with you.”

“You what?” Astlyr felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. The wind was taken out of her completely. “Why didn't you tell me this was going on? How long have you-”

“Peace, please,” Dirthamen urged in a gentle voice. “I have only been communicating for the past hour, and only recently has Elgar'nan responded. Do you care to parlay?”

“Parlay?” Astlyr didn't know how to react or respond. She could already hear Cullen's voice in her head warning her of the risk of this situation. Going into the Fade to speak with dangerous gods who hated her? He would never in a million years tell her it was a good idea. She swallowed. “Yes. I will parlay.” she glanced sideways at Fen'Harel, hoping he would speak up. Tell her she was insane for even entertaining this notion. She wished she knew what her level of insanity was in that moment.

“Do not fear,” Dirthamen said, trying to sound reassuring, though not really managing it. “The spirits there are my friends. They will not allow these negotiations to come to hostility.”

“Fen?” Astlyr turned to her friend, who was, like Cole, hanging back now. He looked nervous, uncertain. She didn't like it.

“We should go,” he said, hoarsely. “This may be the only chance to reason with Elgar'nan, though I doubt it will do us any good. If The God of Vengeance is abroad there will be little chance of swaying him.”

Astlyr's throat felt tight as she looked to Cole, her last bastion of reason in this mess. His hat tilted up and his pale eye met hers, like twin jewels in a milk-white face. He did not speak, merely met her eyes. She knew what he meant without words. He was uncertain as well, but willing to go with her. There was a fierce flash of a threat in his eyes as well. He would protect her in the Fade; a place where she was weaponless. She gave him a quick smile. Then crossed to Dirthamen's bed and sat down. She scooted so her back rested against the cool wall behind her and tucked up her legs with some effort. “I know the drill,” she said when both gods looked at her, impressed.

The group arranged themselves around the room. Cole folded himself onto the bed beside Astlyr as the other two took up chairs, positioning themselves so as to be wedged against a wall or table so they would not fall while their bodies meditated. As the fire guttered lower still on the hearth the four settled in to a quiet, sleepy state.

Astlyr was getting better at this, though perhaps Cole was helping her a bit. His shoulder was leaning against hers and for all she knew he was using his gift to let her fall into the Fade more easily. And fall she did. She had the sensation of tumbling backwards as the feeling of the wall behind her seemed to fade away, and then she was sitting in a world of green and black.

She looked around. Dirthamen's room was very different in the Fade. She wondered if he had decorated it himself. The walls were draped in colorful hangings and beads that fluttered and rattled gently in the unfelt Fade breezes. The place hardly looked like a small castle room at all. Large, decorative cushions sat on the floor instead of chairs, and the bed was replaced with a low pallet covered in lavish, deep red coverings embroidered with gold. She raised an eyebrow. Dirthamen had good taste. He and Dorian should get together at some point.

Then Astlyr took in her company. A certain lean, red haired elf she recognized at once, joined by the one she knew to be Dirthamen. Somehow his handsome features and ebony skin did not surprise her at all. She felt as though she had guessed what he would look like, or had she seen him before? In a dream? Had he walked in her dreams without her permission? She cast these thoughts aside as she stood, followed by Cole in his truer form, that of a healthy (and faintly glowing) young man. “Where do we meet with Elgar'nan?”

“Come,” Dirthamen gestured towards the door and they followed him out. The corridors of Skyhold twisted and turned in this world, and twice they had to backtrack because the hall did not lead where it was meant to. Finally they managed to find their way out into the courtyard. It was snowing, as it had been in the other world, but here in the Fade the snow often decided to fall up or sideways instead of down. A few fat flakes smacked Astlyr in the chin.

“Look, they're curious,” Cole pointed as the group moved across the empty yard. Astlyr followed the boy's gesture and saw several small, wispy spirits hovering near the wall steps. She glanced around, in case demons might be interested as well. Her hand gave a little prickle and the green light shimmered from her palm for a moment. The watching spirits all drew a bit closer, clearly not afraid of her, but uncertain all the same.

Dirthamen turned and noticed. He smiled warmly. “Some of my friends,” he said. “Attentiveness, learning, and cunning.”

The three spirits glowed more brightly as their names were spoken. Cole moved closer and they reached out ethereal limbs towards him, as though admiring his form. Fen'Harel was watching now as well. “They have seldom seen a creature like Cole. It has been a very long time.”

“They want to be like me,” Cole smiled broadly, a startling thing on a face which was usually so glum. “They want to find people like Astlyr and become Spirit Companions too.”

“They must be cautious,” warned Fen, not unkindly, but still in a firm tone. “Any who venture into the human world risk corruption by it.”

The spirits flashed and glowed, speaking to one another in a language Astlyr couldn't understand. Then they flitted back, watching with shimmering eyes as the four visitors to their world moved onward.

As Astlyr and her company approached the main gates, which were open, showing a green tinted snowy mountain valley stretching between two, uneven peaks, another figure joined them. This one far more substantial than the spirits. It was Ghilan'nain, looking elegant in a flowing white dress. On her head she wore the tall, twisting headdress which looked like hala antlers. She was a vision of pale beauty. Not a hair out of place. Her eyes, which were dark as a hala's, fixed on Astlyr and her perfect lips formed a smile. “I am glad to finally be able to meet you this way,” she said.

Astlyr should not have been surprised that she could understand the goddess, but she was. She recovered herself quickly, giving the woman a nod of greeting. “As am I. I hope you are finding your accommodations at Skyhold, at least tolerable.”

The goddess hesitated. Her smile was obviously harder to maintain, but she persevered. “They are tolerable, yes. Your people are...kind.”

Astlyr decided not to press the matter. If Ghilan'nain was here, she hoped it meant that the goddess of the hala intended to aid Skyhold in its time of need, and that was what mattered. Now, with fifth member in tow, the group moved out of Skyhold and into the snowy landscape. Astlyr's hand prickled again and she raised it to check. Her mark glowed faintly, but insistently. Some part of her knew that demons also lurked near by, but even they seemingly had the good sense not to bother her and her illustrious company. She looked down at Cole. Out of place amongst these gods. She wondered why Dirthamen had asked for the boy to come? Was it merely to make Astlyr feel more secure? Did Dirthamen believe she did not know how to deal with the Fade, so bringing a spirit she knew as a guide would be helpful?

She had no more time to think on this, however, as something caught her eye. From the mountain pass several figures emerged. Tall and proud, she guessed who they must be at once. Elgar'nan strode at the front, followed by his fellow gods. As they drew nearer, Dirthamen turned to Astlyr, a clever glint in his eye. “The Fade tells the truth, Inquisitor. Most of the time. However, with a few tweaks I can help it tell a better truth.”

Before she could ask what on earth he had meant, Dirthamen had flicked his wrist and she felt a rush of air. She looked down at herself. No longer clad in the simple garb she usually wore in her Fade walks, instead she was kitted out in full plate. It was nice plate too. It fitted her excellently, and the breast piece was emblazoned with the symbol of the Inquisition. The armor fairly shimmered, and she was gratified to see that a sword hung at her hip, a shield on her back. She guessed that these might be illusion. That she could not draw the blade to strike a foe, but she was not certain. She hoped she would not need to test it.

She shot Cole a sideways look. The boy stood beside her and slightly behind, watching the approaching gods with a seeming calmness she wished she felt. “Would you like to wear special armor too?” she asked him.

“No,” Cole said simply, with a shrug of his slender shoulders. “I don't need it.”

Astlyr turned back to the oncoming group, narrowing her eyes. They all looked vaguely familiar. So much so that she could pick out June, a hulking form near the rear of the group, and Falon'din, his dark skin a stark contrast to his pale fellows. Also with them were Mythal, and Andruil the goddess of the hunt. The huntress had a youthful look, more wild than her fellows. Astlyr thought that there should be another god with them, but she wasn't certain who was missing. She shook her head to clear it. Sometimes her thoughts became muddled in the Fade.

She saw Fen'Harel stiffen beside her. She could fairly feel the tension rolling off of him. He shifted uneasily, like a spooky horse about to bolt. She wished she could put a steadying hand on his shoulder, but she didn't. Instead she knew that the impression she would make on these gods was important. Some had seen her before, but she wanted to impress a new image into their minds. Not one of an injured qunari struggling for life or breath, but a powerful Inquisitor, standing ready to face them in battle without fear.

Elgar'nan raised his arm, calling his company to a halt some feet from Astlyr and hers. The handsome leader of the gods looked Astlyr up and down. Scrutinizing. His face was unreadable.

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion. Ghilan'nain and Andruil had rushed towards one another, embracing then kissing urgently.

Astlyr risked a glance towards her fellows as Elgar'nan glared at his daughter. “They were lovers,” Dirthamen explained coolly, as though this were a perfectly normal situation.

The two women, still holding each other, spoke low and hurriedly, pressing their foreheads together and showering one another in more kisses. Elgar'nan made a loud sound of annoyance, but his daughter ignored him. The leader of the gods curled his lip in obvious disdain, but turned his attention back to Astlyr, his eyes drifting over the group she had with her. “Hello, Dread Wolf. It is no surprise at all to see you here. We wondered what corner you'd slunk off to.”

Fen'Harel froze, tense and wary. His eyes had gone decidedly canine, as though he wanted to change forms and attack or flee, Astlyr wasn't certain which. With an obvious effort, Fen looked past Elgar'nan to Mythal and met her gaze. The goddess's eyes were, to Astlyr's surprise, teary. “I am sorry, my friend,” she lowered her head, her voice very quiet and throaty.

Elgar'nan continued his scrutiny of the Astlyr and company as though his wife were not becoming emotional beside him. “Dirthamen. It pains me to see you there, on the side of the humans and...” he gave Astlyr a look of utter disdain, “other creatures.”

“I am on the side of the new world. If you were not so blinded by vengeance you would see that.”

“Your brother had the right of it,” Elgar'nan gestured to Falon'din, who stood stoically beside June. The smith god, for his part, was glaring at Astlyr as though he could slay her with a look alone. “You could still join us, Dirthamen. We could use your wise council.”

“My council is my own these days,” the secret keeper answered, his tone still level.

Elgar'nan's gaze drifted to rest on Cole, and for the first time Astlyr saw the god's eyes betray an emotion besides disgust. Was there fear behind them? Just for a moment, a definite flash of it. The god's eyes flicked up to Astlyr, then back to Cole, once again unreadable. Dirthamen, however, now wore an oddly smug expression as he caught sight of Elgar'nan's faltering.

The god of vengeance recovered himself quickly, turning his dark gaze back on Astlyr, who weathered its intense loathing stoically. “Do you have anything you wish to say, dragon's daughter, before I seek restitution for my people? For the suffering that has been caused them by this world? For the suffering you have caused me personally?”

Astlyr raised a brow. “You personally.”

The god raised his hand, passing it over his face. She saw that tucked inside his Fade-form was the body he wore in the waking world. A patch rested over one of his eyes and his face and hands were marred by a lattice of scars. He passed his hand back again and once more stood in his perfect, elegant form. He raised his chin to better scowl at Astlyr. “You have taken my eye from me. I have already taken your eyes from you,” he smirked.

“My scouts,” Astlyr realized with a painful twinge. He did not seem one to take prisoners. She knew without a doubt now that Elgar'nan had hunted and murdered any scouts he could find. She suspected he also shot her messenger crows from the sky. Her anger surged, but she kept it from her face with a great effort. She tried to see herself as these strangers might see her. Armored, behorned and tall. She had to be a threat. A danger to them and their ends. She set her mouth in a hard line. “I wished to parlay with you,” she said in her loud, commander's voice. She was gratified when Falon'din blinked in surprise. “I wanted to see if an arrangement could be reached to prevent loss of life.”

“So many elvhen lives have already been lost,” Dirthamen said, his voice tinged with the barest hint of pleading.

“Lives lost to these humans,” Elgar'nan snarled. “The People are enslaved, exiled, slaughtered. Do you have so little feeling for their loss that you would not help them reclaim their world?”

“You never cared for The People,” Fen'Harel's voice was a guttural, feral sound. His blue eyes flashed dangerously. “You want your world back; your rule back. That will never be, and you will die trying to reclaim it.”

“Fen'Harel, please,” Mythal spoke in a gentle, pleading tone. “You were one of us, you must understand...”

“I was never one of you,” Fen growled.

Astlyr decided to take control of the conversation before things got out of hand, and dangerous alternate forms were taken. “I am Astlyr of Skyhold. One of the new leaders in this world. I come to you with one last offer of parlay. Know this, All Father; should you attack my fortress, your forces will break against it like the sea against a cliff wall. You will not succeed. Many, many of your People will certainly die and your efforts will have been for naught.”

“You, and your murdering human friends will pay for what has happened to The People,” Elgar'nan spat, his expression cold. Behind him Mythal flinched and even Falon'din looked uncomfortable. She saw him making eye contact with his brother. Would he fight against his own blood for this cause? Astlyr remembered Fen's words about how the god of the dead had become obsessed with newer, better magics. How he slew his own followers to further his ends. A bitter taste came into her mouth.

“You will not listen to reason?” she too raised her chin, aware that she had a significant height advantage on these elves, even if they did stand taller than the elves of her time. She wanted to use every bit of her intimidating presence now. She even raised her faintly glowing hand. A warning that she too had some right to the Fade. Only Elgar'nan glared back at her. The other gods looked uncertain, if not intimidated. It would have to do.

“I will not give up my cause. You and your fortress are the last stepping stone on my road. Once I have cut off the head of the nation and freed its elves, I will take my new seat of power in Skyhold and rule as I always should have.” He turned, ushering his people away. He had to stop and pry his daughter from the arms of her lover. The two women parted unwillingly, with many a longing look. Elgar'nan made a sound of disgust as he hauled his offspring away.

“Well,” Astyr sighed as the enemy vanished, no longer in the Fade, “that was... what was that exactly?”

“I would not call it a failure,” Dirthamen folded his well muscled arms, his dark eyes distant with thought.

“Neither Adruil nor I will fight in this battle,” Ghilan'nain announced.

Astlyr winced. “Wonderful,” she said, sarcastically. It would be good not to have to deal with the huntress, but it also meant that Ghilan'nain would not aid Skyhold with whatever powers she possessed.

“They were afraid of me,” Cole spoke in a hushed voice. He had been so quiet and still, Astlyr had almost forgotten him, standing at her elbow. “They were afraid of us. We made them afraid,” he seemed to be trying to puzzle out what he had learned, however small.

“Well,” Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck. “I suppose that is something.” She glanced at Fen, who was still tense. “You alright?”

Fen gave her the flash of a strained smile, “I hate those people,” he said, his teeth too sharp.

She barked a laugh, then got herself under control. “Even Mythal? I thought you were friends.”

“As did I, once,” Fen'Harel said, shaking his head, red curls dancing. “I have since learned better.”

“Let us return to Skyhold,” Dirthamen suggested. He looked sad, his shoulders slumped slightly, though he still cut a handsome figure. His dark skin was contrasted by the fine silks he wore draped skillfully across his well built figure. There were few mages in Astlyr's time who could boast such physique.

“Alright,” Astlyr agreed, turning to walk with her fellows. She was eager to wake and tell her generals that the enemy had arrived. She inwardly wished she had remembered to ask them how they had managed to move their army with such speed and efficiency. Likely they would not have told her anyway. As she tried to focus her mind, let herself awaken from her Fade dreaming, she certainly felt as though she had failed. She had gone to parlay with gods and had lost an ally for the battle instead. Whatever fear these strangers had of her, it would certainly not prevent their attack. Perhaps it would even drive them to new heights of desperation. She hoped that she had not just doomed her fortress rather than protected it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright. I fully admit that this chapter is made up of smaller bits that I felt needed to be in the book, but could not stand alone as their own chapter. The dance section feels especially "fic-y". That section was mostly for me. I'll own up to it. It bugged be like mad that DA:I had no final moment with your people. No last hoorah before they threw themselves into death for you. One final puppy pile. Shepard would have given them an inspiring speech, Astlyr gives them dancing.
> 
> (Yes Vivienne secretly loves to dance. I have decided. *nods*)
> 
> Plus we get Fen having *gasp* character growth?!? For real real? And Myfanwy too? Oh snap! Characters be growing all up in this place! Then again, maybe Fen is just messing with everyone. Who knows. ;)
> 
> And then we parlay and the other gods are dicks. Were you surprised? I wasn't.
> 
> Next week: Shit. Gets. Real.
> 
> Next: 8/27/15
> 
> Check out the FB page for writing chatter, book love, and book reviews!  
> https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991
> 
> I made a book tag. You should try it out!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=warEAIY_P5g


	39. Gods of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter incoming. With the next two chapters I allowed myself to make them as long or short as they needed to be. What happens when gods go to war? Find out right here, right now!

Part 39  
Gods of War

“You went into the Fade again. This time to meet dangerous mages who might have killed you there.” Cullen was pacing, running his hand through his hair as though he intended to pull it out. Astlyr stood, her arms folded over her chest, as she watched her man prowl the room.

As soon as she had awakened from her Fade walk with Dirthamen and company, she hurried to tell her generals that the enemy was near. Already that morning a few had been sighted on a ridge to the east of Skyhold, attempting to set up a siege engine. A few good shots from Skyhold's own trebuchet had sent the would be attackers packing. King Alistair had complained, as he watched the foe retreat, that they had stolen his siege engines from Denerim.

Skyhold braced for attack. It galled Astlyr, and even Cassandra, to sit and wait, but as Cullen and Josie pointed out to them again and again, they had one of the best military fortresses in all Fereldan. Why would they leave the protection of Skyhold's high walls in favor of battling a foe they were uncertain of in the snowy valley?

“Did you get an idea of numbers? Any other clues as to what to expect?” Cullen had asked, eying Astlyr with displeasure already on his face. Though she had not explicitly told them how she had come by her information, merely stating that Dirthamen's spirit contacts had brought the news, Cullen was suspicious and she knew she would have to face the music later, even as she sadly informed her generals that she had been given no hint as to how many the enemy numbered.

“We can hazard a guess,” Josephine had said, looking over her notes scrupulously. “From the reports we received of raided slave markets, emptied alienages and Halamshiral. This would place their numbers at ten thousand easily, and we have no idea how many Dalish fill out their ranks. Some were felled in the battle for Denerim, certainly,” she nodded deferentially to the king, “And some were undoubtedly left behind to hold the city, but we must be prepared to face a substantial force.”

Everyone had fallen into a gloomy, contemplative silence.

Now Astlyr leaned back against the war table, tracking Cullen's movements back and forth across the stone floor as she might watch an agitated dog. When Cassandra and Josephine had left the room, he had asked Astlyr, point blank, how she had found out about the army's actions.

She had admitted to it all. To the Fade walk and the failed parlay with the gods. He had listened, sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, not making eye contact with her. Then he had paced for several minutes without saying anything before finally turning to her and speaking with an annoyed snarl she definitely wasn't used to from him. It wasn't his commanderly tone, used on his men to get them in line, and it was miles away from the gentle voice with which she so often addressed her. His golden eyes flashed. “I know you think you're invincible, Astlyr, but you cannot keep doing this. You cannot keep going into the Fade and hoping nothing kills you there. In my years in the circle alone I saw so many mages fall to demons. And those were mages. People who could defend themselves in that world. You have nothing.”

“I have this,” she raised her palm, trying to keep her own voice level. She was wearing gloves, as she usually did, but she did not need to remove them for Cullen to understand what lay below the leather on her palm. “I don't know everything it does, but I am coming to understand it might have some power over the Fade or its denizens. I can tell that it does something more than merely open and close tears in the sky.” For some reason her mind conjured forth the image of a rabbit with a white coat and black tipped ears.

“Your anchor may have some power there, but you also admit that you do not know how to use it,” Cullen raked his hand through his hair again, not looking at her this time. “You keep doing this. Keep endangering yourself. Do you think you're invincible? You've nearly died so many times already! Once at Haven, once when you faced Elgar'nan for the first time. Who knows how many other times you didn't even bother to report? You are not indestructible!”

Astlyr straightened her posture. She wasn't ready for a fight, but she wasn't about to let him think of her as a damsel. She was no maiden waiting for heroic aid to come to her side whenever she might be at risk. She was the war leader of an army, and a mighty fortress. She was qunari. “All my life I have been the biggest and the strongest. If we were to fight right now, you and I, with our strength alone, I would probably win.”

“You probably would,” Cullen sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to her, letting her finish her thought.

“As a child my parents drove it into me that I would be stronger than most everyone around me. That this left me with some responsibility for others. I'm not going to turn into Blackwall, roaming the land looking for farmers being hassled by bandits to save. Not my style. But I can do something here. The people may have chosen the wrong Herald, but if they wanted a warrior, they got one.”

“This notion of always being stronger,” Cullen said, his eyes flicking up to hers before returning to the floor. “I think this is why you walk into these dangerous situations without thinking. Without believing that you could end up dead. You think you can withstand anything.”

“I have so far,” Astlyr pointed out, though she wished she hadn't when she saw the flash of pain cross his face. She tilted her head slightly, trying to meet his eyes. She was suddenly very aware of their difference in heights. She felt like a giant. Like a mismatched puzzle piece. The golden man before her probably did deserve someone who fit him better. “I'm sorry, Cullen,”

He looked up at her now, his expression searching, even hopeful. She felt her mouth go dry with a sudden unease, but she pressed on. “I'm sorry I frustrate you so much with my lack of thought for myself. I am used to relying on my superior size and strength to see me through, but I understand that, especially in the Fade, it may do me little good.”

“I d...I don't want to diminish you,” Cullen lifted his chin, stepping closer. “You are an amazing woman. I would never intentionally belittle your power, your abilities. I would never imply that you need anyone to aid you in either your decision making, nor your martial prowess. But you have allowed me to help you. To aid you with advice as one of your generals, and to fight by your side in battle. Perhaps I overstep. If this is not my place to say... I merely cannot bear the thought of a world without Astlyr in it.”

She was dumbstruck for a long moment. The perfection of his words. Of him in that moment. She knew he would always fear for her. Even in times when his fear would be irrational. In times when she could handle herself. But he had never stood between her and a foe as though he thought her incapable. She was always his equal in that regard. “It is your place to say,” she said, her voice quiet. “And I am sorry. I'm foolish, and I do wander head first into situations I cannot handle. Into situations which are possibly, even probably deadly. For that I am truly sorry... Kadan.”

“Kadan?” Cullen cocked his head. “I used to hear you and Iron Bull use that word. I thought it was another nick name. Everyone around here seems so fond of those.”

Astlyr didn't answer, instead reaching into a pocket of her tunic. She withdrew an object she had kept, an object she had intended for someone special. A dragon's tooth on a long, leather cord. With her other hand she scooped an identical talisman up from where it hung below the collar of her garb. “This is a qunari symbol,” she said, still speaking quietly. Gently. She wasn't even certain why. “Iron Bull told me that in qunari society coupling is mostly about sexual gratification and little else. Unless two people do wish to form a stronger bond. To become joined, in a more spiritual sense. Then they share a token of their togetherness. He told me that one of the strongest of such symbols is a dragon's tooth. It holds the power of the dragon, it shows that our relationship is stronger than the others in our life. I...want to give it to you.”

Cullen took the offered necklace reverently. Without a word he put it on, tying it securely. Then he looked up at her again, a flush of red already kissing his cheeks and nose. “I think I was mad at you a few moments ago. How is it that I can't stay that way? You... are infuriating and hard headed and impossibly brave, and...everything I didn't even know I wanted in a woman.”

“And you're a stubborn worrier who has a thing for redheads and can barely tolerate most of the decisions I make. And you're still my Kadan. My heart.” she translated.

He closed the final gap between them, slid his hand up to cup her jaw, and kissed her so hard and so well that it made her feel as though she could float up to the ceiling. Then he pulled back, still holding her with a strong arm at her hips. “How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” she asked, bending her neck to brush her lips over his.

“I distinctly remember being upset with you. Now I'm not.” he cocked an eyebrow.

“It's a special talent I have,” she grinned. “Few qunari possess it. I can make handsome templars forget they were angry with just one kiss.”

“Do the tamplars have to be handsome?”

“Oh yes. Or my power doesn't work.” She draped her arms over his shoulders. Enjoying just standing there, in contact with one another.

“I see,” he considered. “I suppose I am doomed then?”

“Very.”

He chuckled, finally letting her go, if a bit unwillingly. “Come on, Astlyr. We have some soldier to yell at.”

The pair left the war room, Cullen reverently tucking the dragon tooth he now wore under the collar of his shirt. He kept shooting Astlyr little looks of happiness that, when she caught him, never failed to make her grin like a giddy child.

Yell at soldiers the pair did indeed. Though Cullen did most of the shouting, with Astlyr serving to look impressive and scary behind him, to drive his points home. Varric and Myfanwy, who had rallied up with Skyhold's archers, kept leaning their heads together and laughing as Cullen put on his best military airs. Astlyr had to shoot her friends her deadliest glare, which only managed to stop the pair for a few moments before Varric cracked another joke. Sera, who stood in a different rank from Myfanwy (the two did not get along) settled for making fart noises whenever no one was looking.

Then Cullen went to address the templars. Few though they were in number, they would be dealing with the attacking mages, and they had their work cut out for them. Especially as the mages had greater range. The men and women listened with somber faces as their commander gave them instruction. Nearby, Vivienne was addressing her mages with the aid of Cassandra. The magic users of Skyhold had the least military training, and fumbled into awkward columns when ordered. They practiced the motions of casting around their fellows towards imaginary targets. Aside from the siege engines, the mages of Skyhold would be the main fire power that Astlyr could bring to bear. She made certain to check them all personally. Nodding with appreciation when she saw a well trimmed line, or correcting any who fell out of formation. One misplaced or mistimed spell could make for a disastrous result in army combat and this was very different from what most mages were trained to deal with.

The guard were also fighting fit and eager. Champing at the bit to get stuck into an enemy at last. They had seen little action in Skyhold, the army having gone out to face Coryphius, sparing the fortress any danger. Jones rushed here and there, checking armor, ensuring her unit's blades were keen and shields in good repair. She beamed happily at Astlyr as the qunari passed. Then, in a flash, she was hurrying to keep up, holding something up to Astlyr. “Inquisitor!”

“What is it, Jones?” Astlyr stopped, letting Cullen walk on to find Cas and confer about any last minute details.

The woman held up a small, round jar, the size of her fist. “I was talking to Iron Bull about you.”

“Oh?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“He said you look scary in your armor and all, but with this you could look terrifying. He says he wants you to send the enemy packing with just a look.” The guard was fishing in a belt pouch with her free hand, pulling out two gold colored objects that looked almost like hollow arrow tips. “He told me that when qunari go to war they paint their bodies and accent their horns with these.”

“Horn tips?” Astlyr took one of the objects, understanding. They were ornamental items. She raised an eyebrow, “and you want me to wear them?”

“Of course,” Jones said, still offering the war paint in its little jar. “This paint will stain, so if you put it on now it will last you a few days.”

Astlyr heaved a sigh, “Jones, I don't have time to-”

“I'll put it on for you,” the guard offered, still determinedly smiling. There was something about her homespun, earnest plea that made Astlyr less able to argue.

The qunari sighed, gritting her teeth. “Alright, but not too much. I have to be around my people too you know, and I can't have them being terrified out of their wits when they see me. Well, more than they already are.”

“I'll be quick!” Jones was beaming fit to rival the winter sun. She sat Astlyr on a nearby wooden box which was filled with crossbow bolts. One of Varric's many stashes. “Iron Bull told me that the unbroken line means strength,” Jones dipped her thumb in the red paint, then drew a thick streak down from Astlyr's hairline to the tip of her nose. The paint was cool, and dried quickly. Jones went on, placing a smaller mark on Astlyr's bottom lip, “and this means ferocity. Like you're going to eat your enemy's flesh.”

“Well that's charming,” Astlyr chuckled, though she tried to keep her face as still as possible. It was difficult. The paint tickled a bit, and she had to resist licking it off her lip before it dried. “Count on the qunari to come up with that one.”

Then Jones drew three lines, horizontally, on the thickest part of Astlyr's horns, “and this is your army. I guess qunari pride themselves of fighting alone, but Iron Bull said this obscure mark means that you have an army at your back. A warning to your enemies.” Jones recapped the little paint jar and took the horn toppers. She fitted each onto Astlyr's horns. “There,” she stood back to admire her handiwork.

Astlyr got to her feet, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. For emphasis she held out her left hand, giving the veil a little tug, flaring green across her palm, even through her glove. Jones' eyes lit up. “I wouldn't like to meet you on the field of battle ma'am. Not ever!”

Astlyr chuckled. “Alright then. Thank you, Jones. Now you had best get back to preparing your men.”

“Yes, Ma'am!” Jones saluted and hurried away. Astlyr watched her go, unable to keep the smile from her face. Then she moved on herself to see how the King's own soldiers were fairing.

~~~~~

A long day of preparation finished, Astlyr stood on the wall of Skyhold. Cullen had taken a place at her left side, Cassandra on her right. Cole had situated himself in front of her, too short to block her view of the snowy landscape. A harsh wind was blowing, enough to make even Astlyr's tough skin feel as though it might be eroded away. She squinted, scanning the nearest mountains which created the narrowing valley leading up to Skyhold. A challenge for any army, but not impossible. A skilled leader could still make a go of it. She wondered if Elgar'nan was such a leader. No doubt, in the Ages he had lived, he had led many armies to battle. King Alistair and his two squires joined them. He held his cloak around himself tightly, and both he and his fellows wore thick scarves over the bottoms halves of their faces. Far from appearing regal, King Alistair looked almost like a common soldier, were it not for the fact that his armor was nicer than most others. He might at least have been a general, Astlyr thought as she watched him approach. “A pity these aren't darkspawn,” the king announced, voice muffled by his scarf.

“Oh?” Cassandra was skeptical.

“He can sense those. A clawing in his mind. One thousand little voices, all singing a silent song. He can count each horrible hand that reaches and grasps, hollow and hungry. Tearing his mind like old cloth,” Cole said without looking up. The wind whipped at his hat, but it managed to stay in place.

King Alistair blinked a few times, “I don't think I'll ever get used to the company you keep around here. I thought my travels with a talking hunk of rock and an angry hedge-witch made for odd conversation.”

Astlyr put a hand on Cole's slim shoulder, encouraging him to be still. He settled under her touch at once, leaning back into her. She turned her attention to the mountains once more. She could just make out tiny pinpricks of light standing out against the snow and black rock. Campfires. Most were concealed by the snowy peaks, but some were still visible.

“They wish us to know that they are here,” Cassandra said. “But not how many they number.” Astlyr knew it was a common tactic to camp openly before a besieged fortress, to display numbers with campfires.

“I suspect they plan to attack on the morrow,” Cullen affirmed, steam clouding from his lips as he spoke.

“Are we ready?” The king asked, folding his arms and turning to examine the little points of light.

“As we will ever be,” Astlyr said. “We would repulse an ordinary army easily, but I don't know what this particular foe might bring to bear.”

The leaders stood in silent contemplation, watching each distant fire, like stars brought to earth. Each one represented at least ten warriors or mages, Astlyr reasoned. She knew that Elgar'nan's force would have the numbers hers lacked. A fortress could only hold so many soldiers. Yet, if the battle swung her way, many of her soldiers would not even need to test blade against enemy armor. She felt her own breath ghost out of her in a weary sigh. “No use standing up here all night, freezing. That's what guards are for.”

“I heard that,” Joked a courageous guardsman. His fellows tried to stifle their laughter until they saw that the Inquisitor was smiling.

“Try to get some sleep,” Astlyr urged her generals. “Cole can help out, if you need him to.”

“I believe I shall read, instead,” Cassandra said, “no offense meant, of course, Cole.”

The boy did not even seem to notice he might have been slighted. Instead he followed Astlyr and company down from the wall, then, once he was certain none of them wished for his aid, he teleported away to go help someone else. Many minds were full of unease that night. In need of the company of a compassionate spirit.

~~~~~

Astlyr woke the next morn, after a fitful night, even wrapped as she was in the arms of her lover. He too had not fared well. His mind plagued by the dark dreams which always troubled him when his anxiety level was high. Astlyr rolled out of bed, awakened by instinct rather than sunlight. Outside a blizzard loomed. Dark clouds, pregnant with snow, hung low like a blanket over fortress and mountains. She even saw lightning skitter across the bottom of one such cloud. This was not an ideal day for a battle, but she suspected Elgar'nan had something to do with it. He wanted Skyhold to be blinded by snow and winds. Their higher elevation would make them much more susceptible than those in the valley below. The healers would have their hands full with frostbite patients.

Even as Astlyr tugged on her underarmor, attempting to be quiet so Cullen could catch a few extra winks of sleep, the warning bell sounded. Cullen was up as though someone had poured ice water over him, and leaping into his clothes, seemingly before he even took in where he was. When sleep cleared from his face and he met Astlyr's eyes there was a hard, determined set to his scarred features. “It's now.”

“It's now,” she agreed, yanking on a boot. She twisted her hair into a bun, taking just enough time to make certain it was secure. No good her hair flying loose in a combat situation. Once or twice she had pondered cutting it off, annoying as it was, but she knew how Cullen favored it, so she wrapped it tightly, holding it in place with a few pins and a twine of leather. She could not help but see her painted face in Cullen's small shaving the mirror as she dealt with her hair. Jones had been right, the blood-red markings were still as prominent as when they had been painted. They made her look somehow more qunari. Normally this might have annoyed her, but today she wanted to look as huge and intimidating as possible. She slipped the horn toppers into place.

Skyhold was already awake and alive with activity as Astlyr and Cullen rushed to the armory to suit up. She passed Dorian, who was moving with the mages into their formations. He caught sight of her and gave her a cocky grin and a wave. The healers were setting up triage stations in the snowy courtyard near the stables. To Astlyr's surprise, Fen'Harel and Dirthamen were there. Fen looked up as she passed and met her eyes. She knew he would join the fray if and when he was needed, but as the most skilled spirit healer Skyhold currently possessed, he had rightly decided his place was amongst the medics. As Dirthamen had no position with the warriors he too lent a helping hand. Ghilan'nain was no where to be seen. Probably still hiding away in her room or, more likely, tucked safely away with the other civilians. Astlyr spared no time being angry at the goddess for not helping in the fight. With no idea what the halla maiden's powers were, Astlyr would rather she stayed clear.

In the armory Astlyr took down her best, dragon fighting plate. It was heavy indeed, and a human might have found himself unable to move in it at all. Even Astlyr needed all her energy to fight well in the stuff, but it was impressive. Cassandra was there, already finishing up her own armor. “Iron Bull and his Chargers have been and gone,” the woman explained as the bell sounded again. The noise from the courtyard intensified and the soldiers formed their ranks and the mages took their places. “I haven't seen Varric or Myfanwy yet, but the archers are rallied, so I suspect they are with them.”

Astlyr nodded as a young armorer hurried forward to help her with the straps. She rested her arm on his head as the man skillfully buckled the side of her breastplate. She looked to Cassandra, her eyes asking without her needing to speak.

“Blackwall is leading the center unit. I will be on the left. Cullen will take the right unit, with King Alistair's men. Lady Vivienne has the mages as prepared as they can be. Those who have seen combat before are on the walls. The young, and less experienced, are held back in the yard, interspersed with the templars.”

“The templars are as ready as they can be,” Cullen filled in, sitting down to strap on his leg armor. There would be little need of full plate if all went well, but both Astlyr and Cullen knew that things seldom went well where would-be 'gods' were concerned.

“Dorian is with the combat mages,” Cas continued, knowing that Astlyr wished all her friends accounted for. “I'm not certain about Cole.”

“He's near,” Astlyr said, without looking up from a strap she was having trouble getting to buckle properly on her arm.

Cas and Cullen shot one another a look, then the seeker carried on. “Any civilians who are not aiding the healers, or standing ready to shore up damaged walls and buildings, have been evacuated by Josephine to the temple, underground barracks, and the dungeons.”

“We do have nice dungeons,” Astlyr chuckled as she took her beautiful shield down from its place on the wall, then selected one of her favorite blades.

“Sharpened that un last night,” the smith, who was standing watch near by, said with a smile. “Knew you'd want it.”

Astlyr nodded her thanks, belted the sword at her hip, and strapped the shield to her back. Someone whistled low. She turned to realize it was Cullen. He was looking at her, admiration on his face. “I forget you can look like that,” he said, indicating her fully kitted-out self. “Full plate suits you.”

“Iron Bull once told me that if you see a qunari in full armor, you should run,” Cassandra added, smiling. She we no slouch herself in the ruddy, buffed mail which bore the emblem of the Inquisition on the breastplate. She pulled on a helmet, completing the look. Astlyr would have to settle for her horn toppers. Cullen pulled down his lion helmet, which he mostly worn for show, but he did look impressive in it, and Astlyr gave him a whistle of her own, and a suggestively raised eyebrow.

She leaned close to her lover for a moment, “If we survive this, I'm tearing all that armor off you later.”

“I look forward to it,” he even managed to keep his blush from completely overrunning his face.

Casandra watched them with a rare smile on her lips, before nodding towards the door, “if you two don't mind, we have a war situation outside.”

The three generals made their way to the wall, the warning bell sounding a final urgent note in the crisp dawn, just in case the very elderly or deaf had somehow missed it, Astlyr thought ruefully. She reached the top of the wall, and the archers and mages there parting to make way. King Alistair stood awaiting them, wearing much more practical armor this time. To Astlyr's surprise, the queen was with him. Her own attire was mostly for show. Plates of thin metal that would no more protect her from a sword than a layer of thick cloth might.

At Astlyr's skeptical look, the king explained, “Anora wishes the people to see her before the first bought begins. Never fear, once the fighting starts she shall retreat below with the others.”

Astlyr nodded, though she still felt uncertain as she studied the queen in her useless armor. She sighed and turned her attention back to the valley. Already she could see the army that approached them. She squinted as the wind rattled through every gap in her armor. Even the padded gambison she wore beneath did not protect her from the harsh breath of winter. Her ear tips stung and her eyes watered.

Elgar'nan's army was indeed massive, from what she could see. Though she had no way to tell, she suspected the numbers to be greater than Josephines estimations. Elgarn'nan too had divided his force into three elements. She could not make out the positioning of his mages, but she could see the three siege engines he had constructed, which were being hauled along by his elvish soldiers.

“Look there,” Cullen gestured to the oncoming enemy columns. “Sloppy.”

He was right. One of the elements was outdistancing the others noticeably. One of the others listed, failing to keep formation. “We forget that most of these elves were slaves or Dalish,” Cassandra pointed out, watching with a shrewd gaze as the enemy commanders appeared to be trying to get their forces back into shape.

“They will have many mages trained by the Dalish rather than the circle.” Astlyr startled. Mayfanwy was one of the archers standing near her. A helmet and armor disguised the woman so she looked like all the others. “They will be unpredictable.”

“We shall outmatch any unprofessional, hedge-magic easily,” Vivienne was striding along the wall, eying her people scrupulously.

“What will they do first?” The queen asked, clasping cold hands and trying to warm them.

“If it were me I'd try to get my siege engines and mages into range first. Skyhold is a nut that must be cracked if the foot soldiers are to be of any use at all.” Cullen explained.

All of Skyhold seemed to hold its breath. Astlyr saw Alun shift slightly in his hiding place near the wall. The stone wolf was to act as a nasty surprise for any soldiers who made it to the gate.

Slowly, almost painfully, the enemy siege engines were brought forward, just as Cullen had predicted. Astlyr watched the elvish banners. Hastily made things which bore the crests of Elgar'nan and his bride, Mythal. Idly she wondered if Elgar'nan was alarmed by his wife's current choice of bodies. “Be cautious of Fade magic,” Astlyr warned Vivienne. “These false gods have some power over the Fade.”

“Noted,” the enchanter nodded curtly, for once offering no swaggering reply. “Their earth mages will be able to make the stones from their catapults fly farther than they normally might. As can ours,” she added, a slight smile playing on her full lips. She could never hide her confidence for long.

Just as snow finally seemed to overcome the clouds above and began to fall in thickening sheets over Skyhold, the enemy was within range, and they fired the first shot. A large boulder slowly arched across the sky, aimed for the main gate, or the wall around it. It almost seemed to hang in the snowy air for a long moment as everyone watched in silence. This signifier of the beginning of the end.

As Astlyr saw her breath ghost from her lips in a slow, eager huff, time seemed to catch up with itself and the boulder hurtled towards them. Three mages stepped forward, catching it easily with their gift they deflected it to send it harmlessly off the cliff on Skyhold's left side.

Elgar'nan's army gave a vast, rattling war cry. It shuddered the mountains and was punctuated by a mighty roar. Mythal, already in dragon form, stood with the army. Astlyr raised her arm, her glove-less hand aglow as she bellowed her own cry to the winds, “FOR FERELDAN! FOR SKYHOLD!” Her hand exploded with green light as she clawed the Fade with her fingers. Not enough to open it, but enough to send ripples across the surface.

“Siege engines! Fire!” Cullen shouted to the nearest commanders as the queen gave an audible squeak and fled the scene.

Soon the sky was pocked with huge rocks, hurtling from both sides, propelled by magic and the force of the technology itself. Skyhold's engines were superior, this much was plain, as their missiles found homes in the snowy earth, crushing any who failed to get clear.

“Archers ready!” a captain shouted as the archers stepped forward, longbows drawn. “Fire! Archers, step back and reload. Mages ready? Step forward! Fire!”

Not all of Skyhold's mages had the range to reach the foe, but those that could sent fire, ice, even some spirit magic hurtling into the enemy ranks. Because of the sheer number of mages standing with Elgar'nan, his whole army seemed wrapped in the rippling blue of magical shielding. Most spells from Skyhold deflected harmlessly, or were absorbed into barriers. On the Skyhold side of things, the mages had a bit more work, both attacking and defending. Astlyr, who stood on her perch above the main gate, more as a figure head than a commander at this point, had to dodge an incoming bolt of lightning. It zinged past her ear and left the air feeling charged for a few moments.

“DRAGON!” Cassandra cried.

Mythal had taken wing, skirting wide of the fortress as the ballistas tracked her. She was too far and too fast for them so they did not waste ammunition.

Astlyr ignored the dragon for a moment, watching with satisfaction as her mages weakened the enemy, allowing arrows and siege rocks to find targets. The front ranks of Elgar'nan's force were crumbling. His soldiers seemed to be losing their nerve, trying to pull back out of range, only to run into their own allies standing behind them. Astlyr smiling grimly at their fumbling confusion.

A shattering crash made everyone's heads turn. A section of the southeastern wall had been struck by something. “What the hell?!” Astlyr snarled.

“There, they've got more catapults just beyond that ridge!” Cullen pointed. “Dammit! The mountain allowed them to hide the engines and get the elevation to strike at Skyhold. Mages, reinforce that wall!”

Already, broken wall stones were showering down on the soldiers in the courtyard. Most managed to get clear of the largest chunks, though a few were struck. Astlyr's lip curled as she bared her teeth, knowing in her bones that this was a signal. She was correct. Mythal swooped in low this time, bathing the yard in fire. The soldiers were more prepared for this, raising shields to form a shell over themselves, and the mages in their ranks who were placing protective magics over them. The dragon swung around and came again, her tail slicing into the side of the main keep and leaving a sizable gash in the stone. The wind from her wings almost knocked a few archers from the walls. The ballista fired, but failed to strike her as she sent flames surging down onto the soldiers below. The stables caught fire, but teams were ready and hurried to put it out.

Astlyr watched as Mythal wheeled. Another stone struck the wall, this time causing less damage as the mages who had been sent to that side had partially deflected it. Once more Mythal swept in, laying a blanket of flames over the courtyard. The soldiers raised shields, the mages weaving spells over the lot of them. “Stay sharp everyone!” Astlyr shouted needlessly, pacing the wall now, giving orders rather than standing tall as a beacon of leadership.

“This isn't sustainable,” Cullen pointed out as she prowled past him. “We can withstand the dragon, but not forever. We're eating through his soldiers, slowly, but effectively, he's bound to make another attack of some kind.”

“This can't be his entire plan,” Cassandra agreed as she raised her shield to deflect stray dragon fire.

Mythal swooped toward the main gate this time, trying to blast it with flames. She scorched a path along a section of wall, this time achieving better results. Two people leaped from the ramparts, their bodies aflame, before the nearest mages could stop them. Others were scorched, but alive. The archers and mages drove Mythal off as best they could. She roared and flapped her wings mightily, narrowly missing being struck by a siege rock as it hurtled past her.

“Cole!” Astlyr called to the snowy air. Her voice was almost ripped from her by the rush of wind from Mythal's wings as the dragon came in again, harrowing those on the walltop. The mages launched deadly shafts of ice towards her face and she broke off. Astlyr felt her spirit companion beside her before she saw him. She turned, making out his slender, be-hatted shape amongst the soldiers on the wall. He joined her, tilting his hat up, his eyes like twin points of ice. “Can you sense anything out of place? I know the battle must be overwhelming, but I need to know if you can get any read on what the enemy is up to.”

Both had to hastily duck behind the ramparts as Mythal's fire licked the walls before she was driven off again. She made a pass at one of the trebuchet, but once again was met with magic and arrows before she could reach the siege engine to try to topple it from its perch. Cole took a moment, fingertips grasping Astlyr's forearm armor as he concentrated. “The old pain is bigger. Almost too much. It pushes over me like a wave of blood and I can't see. It's in my eyes and I can't see.” His face twitched. “Anger. Hate. Salty like sweat that stings a fresh wound. 'I will make them pay,'” he spoke between gritted teeth, lowering his voice to a guttural growl.

“That's probably Elgar'nan,” Astlyr said, taking a knee so as to be mostly below the level of the ramparts. Beside her archers and mages rose to fire and then they too dropped low to avoid the enemy attacks. “Anyone else? Do you sense Morrigan at all?” She took Cole's hand and pulled him further down to shelter with her.

“No,” the boy said after a moment. His longer finger's worked as though he were playing some invisible instrument. “The veil is so thin now, the spirits beyond are pushing against it. They want to see the battle and understand, but they never can.”

“Focus, Cole,” Astlyr urged, though, now that he had said it, she too could sense how thinly stretched and taught the veil was over Skyhold. It would taking nothing, the merest curling of her fingers, to open a sizable rift now.

“Guilt.” the boy looked up, his red rimmed, sunken eyes meeting hers. “I can feel it, like a sliver under the skin. She said she wouldn't fight. 'it's not fighting,' they told her. They told her she could help them and be finished. She didn't want to hurt her love, but she does as she's told.”

“Who does?” Astyr leaned forward.

“Eyes like an eagle, watching, Vigilant. She wants to see trees and smell the sky again. Rushing below her, a sea of rippling green and The People singing when they see her as she brings them good hunts.”

“Andruil,” Astlyr guessed. “The huntress and the hawk. So she's joining the battle after all. But where is she?”

Mythal swept in again with a roar. Several arrows were lodged in the membranes of her wings, and it was clear she was tiring. “I will find her,” Cole announced, and before Astlyr could grab him, or tell him to stay, he was gone in a puff of smoke and a gush of air. Astlyr felt the extra chill sting her already ruddy nose. The cold was growing brutal. She turned to seek Cullen and Cas. She found her two commanders rushing up and down the wall, bent double, giving orders. She got their attention and shouted, “go to your units! Something up and we might need foot soldiers after all.”

Cullen and Cas obeyed without question, heading for the nearest wall stairs. King Alistair saw them go and met Astlyr's eyes. She gave him a nod and he too departed to his unit. Astlyr stood back up for a moment, practiced eye scanning the field. If she was honest she was much better at small unit combat than the clashing of armies, and she hoped she was compensating well for the deficit in her expertise.

“They're behind us!” Cole reappeared, panting and looking highly agitated. “They're coming in the back of Skyhold! They've got a door and they're coming in!”

Astlyr didn't wait to ask Cole what he meant. She got the gist. Enemy soldiers had found a way to deal with the sheer cliff at the back of the fortress and the fortress was breached. “Tell Cassandra to go,” she instructed Cole, who was down in the courtyard doing just that before she could blink.

Astlyr watched the seeker swing her unit around with practiced ease, sending them rushing into the building. Cullen looked concerned as he watched her go, but was too well trained to question, or try to follow. “Ma'am!” Someone grabbed Astlyr's arm, getting her attention.

She turned, looking where the archer was pointing. Mythal had made one, final sweep at the gates, then broken off. Form the mass of the enemy army someone was charging forward. A very small unit, headed by a single soldier. Or was it a soldier? As Skyhold's mages and archers attempted to slay this small group, their missiles encountered a barrier which looked expertly conjured. The man running at the front of the group held his staff high, blue light flooding from it in powerful pulses which kept a thick shield over himself and his fellow chargers.

Astlyr realized too late what this was. “GET OFF THE WALL” she yelled, even as the advancing figure reached the long bridge. She knew, though he was still too far away to see for certain, that he was a mage with only one eye. He had been robbed of the other in an encounter with Bianca the crossbow.

The god transformed. A massive, dragon-like creature with no wings, surging up the bridge like a juggernaut. Astlyr watched as the archers and mages fled the wall, but too slowly. Not all would get clear. Her mind was so consumed with them that she did not even think of herself until someone grabbed her armor and began pulling her. An intrepid archer had run back for her and they weren't going to make it. There was a shuddering, roaring sound of stone being rent apart. Of spells failing and wood splintering. The scream of thick metal being bent and then broken. The wall on which Astlyr and the archer stood buckled and suddenly they were in the air.

Astlyr smashed to earth, snow and grit flying. Her horns saved her from cracking her head against the ground, and her armor took some of the impact of her landing, though she felt it bend and her muscles scream with pain. No broken bones, she thought as she pulled herself to her feet. The archer who had tried to save her was in a crumpled heap before the feet of Elgar'nan. He had broken through the main gate and torn the portcullis as though it were paper. Now he stood, flanked by the mages who had followed him in, staring down the soldiers that awaited him.

As Astlyr struggled to her feet, her own armor hindering her now, bent as it was, she tried to catch the breath that had been knocked from her. Iron Bull reacted before she could fill her lungs with air. She couldn't make out his battle cry, but it sounded vaguely like “kill this fucker!”

“Cullen!” Astlyr rasped. Where was his element? Had they been crushed by the god's assault? No, there he was. Her aching body flooded with relief as she saw her man bring his soldiers to bear on the attacking creature's right flank.

“Take out his mages! We must slay them before the rest of his army reaches us!” Cullen roared, rallying the templars to him. They charged in, few in number though they might be, their focus on the mages as the rest of Cullen and Alistair's troops, plus the chargers, attempted to keep Elgar'nan engaged.

Astlyr fumbled for her sword and saw something large and black moving very quickly out of the corner of her eye. Like a huge shadow, it hugged the wall, then sprang. Her breath caught in her throat. Somehow she knew the creature which now launched itself at the god. The Dread Wolf. Black as a patch of midnight on a clear day it surged forward, jaws agape, red eyes flashing. It ripped at Elgar'nan's thick flesh, scoring a deep gash before the god of Vengeance swung a massive, clawed limb around and sent the wolf sprawling. It was on its paws again in a blink, leaping on the foe with its lips pulled back to reveal an impossible amount of jagged fangs.

Astlyr, realizing she had been standing and watching for too long, rushed to grab her shield, which had landed beside her on the ground. Just as she was about to make her own charge towards the foe, a mage darted into her path. His magic was a deep purple, and for the briefest flash she thought of Dorian. But no. He was an elf with pale skin and sunken eyes. His grin was lopsided, a little insane. His eyes were deep and dark, like the eyes of someone else she knew. The mage stretched out a hand and raised it, fingers like claws. His purple magic coiled over the stones and caressed the bodies of the fallen soldiers around them. Soon the dead had staggered back to life.

Astlyr bit down on a snarl as she readied herself to attack. Clearly this was Falon'din. God of the dead. She reached him in two strides, but he slipped easily away from her. Was he manipulating the Fade to dodge so quickly? His undead were already clawing at her. Slashing clumsily with blades or even battering with their fists.

Skyhol'd soldiers surged in, valiantly fighting both Elgar'nan and Falon'din. Astlyr remembered why she hated big battles like this. In the press of bodies she was an oversized combatant and found she couldn't move properly. She gritted her teeth and tried not to impale any of her own soldiers as she struck out for Falon'din. The death mage caught her eye, his crooked smile still etched across his borrowed face like a scar. He conjured a dagger from his own purple magic, and then, still grinning, drew the dagger across his own chest. A shallow, long cut from shoulder to hip.

Astlyr watched aghast as his magic doubled in potency as his blood flowed, smashing her soldiers out of his way as though they were pesky insects. Astlyr braced herself and rushed him again, ready to feel the claws of the blood mage's power tear into her. Something huge and furry blurred past in her periphery and she missed a step, almost tripping over her own two feet. As she righted herself she saw that Dirthamen had appeared, in animal form, and had tackled his brother in a literal bear hug. He wrapped massive, grizzly limbs around the mage, taking whatever punishment the purple magic dealt to him. She suspected Dirthamen could have done more than this physical attack if she had not taken his foci from him. If only she had it now, she could give it to him, but she had locked it away in her room.

Before Astlyr could decide how she might aid Dirthamen something else caught her attention. The elvish forces had charged once they saw their leader punch an entrance into the fortress, and were already pouring inside. Astlyr ran for the massive hole in the wall where her gate had once stood. As she went she rallied every spare soldier she saw, “TO ME!” she roared. Snow lashing at her face, borne on a cruel wind which was channeled through the fresh wound in Skyhold's defenses. It bit like wasp stings on any exposed skin, but she cared little. She could feel the blood rage surging up in her now. It was about time, she thought with a perverse glee as she smashed into the front ranks of the enemy.

Alun the stone wolf had centered himself on the bridge and was facing off against the oncoming army and June, who, like Falon'din, had not taken on an alternate form, but wore his special armor and moved with a wild unpredictable style. Arrows and blades deflected from Alun's stone flesh, but magic was causing him trouble. Already he was missing an ear where a bolt had clipped his head. His legs showed signs of long cracks. He was being pushed back, almost inside Skyhold now. The elves were getting around him in droves, though he did his best, knocking whole groups of them off the bridge and into the open air.

Astlyr and her soldiers hit the foe with as much force as they could muster. Astlyr outdistanced them almost at once as she waded into the mosh. Her skill with blade and shield, coupled with the blood rage, sent her hurtling deep into the enemy ranks. Hot blood splashed her face as she slit a throat with the deadly edge of her shield, driving her sword home in a mage's chest with her other hand. She heard Alun yelp and turned in time to see him blasted bodily from the bridge to the chasm below. She gritted her teeth in a deadly snarl, kicking an oncoming soldier so hard in the chest that she knew she had broken bones. He fell back with a gurgling gasp.

Cole appeared beside Astyr. Twin blades drawn he easily fell in with her fighting style, covering her back as he shouted, “Cassandra needs help!”

“Take the guard!” Astlyr instructed. “Reinforce Cas!”

“Yes,” Cole answered, and, after dispatching two more foes with inhuman quickness, he was gone again.

Astlyr realized then that she had extended herself too far. She stood in the middle of the enemy ranks on the bridge. Her soldiers were struggling to fight their way to her, with little success. If she turned to try to rejoin them she knew her chances for survival dropped. Her best chance was to remain where she was and hope they reached her. The heat in her blood surged as she slew wave after wave. Only the smallest part of her felt anything for those she was killing. A hollow regret as she felled elf after elf. These people deserved better.

Then June faced her, an evil grin on his pale features. He moved with impossible speed, his sword foci finding chinks in Astlyr's armor with ease Seeking to place himself where it was hardest for her to turn, to swing or reach. Her armor hindered her while his did not. He peppered her with shallow wounds, doing his best in the process to keep her from rejoining her soldiers.

A fresh battle cry rent the air. One Astlyr had never heard, but knew at once, “FOR THE CIRCLE!”

Vivienne was borne on a wave of pale blue flame as she and a contingent of her mages joined the fray. The tall woman was wielding an elegant blade of magic and her power was rolling from her in rippling surges. She needed no blood magic to wield such strength. Her eyes with alight with a deadly glow as she rent the enemy forces asunder, making her way to Astlyr, cutting a swath for her mages to fill. She was obviously intent on June.

Vivienne passed Astlyr, sparing the qunari only a glance. “Go. Skyhold needs its Inquisitor alive.” Enchantress and god met, a clashing of foci against magical sword. Sparks sprayed everyone nearby. To Astlyr's surprise and endless admiration, Vivienne did not falter as June pressed his weight against the blow. When the smith god sprang to the right, thinking to best this new opponent with agility as he had beaten others, he found himself instead thrown back by a gush of her magic. Vivienne smirked, face to face with him again. Considerably taller than he, and looking as though she personally owned him, this bridge, and the mountains around them, her smile would have made an ordinary man wet himself and cry for his mother. “Get back inside! Your fortress needs you!” the enchantress instructed Astlyr again, her whole body was shimmering with magical fire.

Astlyr obeyed, though she desperately ached to stay and aid her friend, she suspected that if any 'mortal' was a match for the elvhen deity, it was Madame de Fer.

Astlyr charged back to her own forces. The elvish army was managing to push in to the fortress using sheer numbers. She quickly scanned the scene. She wasn't certain where Falon'din was, but Elgar'nan was causing deviation inside the walls. He ripped chunks from Skyhold itself with mighty sweeps of his massive limbs. He gored soldiers by the dozens with his tusk-like fangs. He crushed his attackers underfoot whenever he could. Even the Chargers seemed to have fallen back from this fight. Now he grappled with the Dread Wolf. 

Elgar'nan had lifted the wolf from the ground, one massive paw to Fen'Harel's throat Elgar'nan pressed his fellow god against the wall. Fen'Harel struggled, but he efforts were becoming more feeble. Elgar'nan ignored the attacking soldiers who slashed at his legs and struck at him with magic. His focus was on the Dread Wolf in his grip. “ELGAR'NAN!” Astlyr's voice cut through the chaos. Even she was impressed by the volume she achieved. “FACE ME!” She struck her shield with her sword in a thundering challenge.

She didn't think it would work. She was as surprised as anyone when the god turned, releasing the pressure from Fen'Harel's throat. The wolf slumped to earth, transforming back into his elf shape as he struck the ground with an ugly thud. Dirthamen limped over to him, positioning his shaggy body over that of his friend.

“Do we have a plan, Pointy?”

Astlyr glanced to her left. Varric carried Bianca slung low at his waist, ready to fire.

“We're with you, M'gel,” Dorian was at her other side.

“No,” she breathed. “No, get back!” she said more loudly, but too late. The god tore a sizable chunk of rock from the wall and hurled it. Astlyr moved instinctively, shoving Dorian clear as the rock hit her straight on. She was borne backwards and smashed to earth and stone. She felt something penetrate her armor at her back and bury itself in her body. She had no idea if it was a discarded blade, or a sharp piece of rock. She did know, as pain filled her, and her breath came in little gasps, that her lung was well and truly punctured. She couldn't see. There was too much debris and dust in the air. She knew her right arm was crushed. Broken in too many places to bother considering. She could hear the battle still being fought, but it seemed from a distance, as though she heard it from under water. Was her name being shouted? She couldn't tell.

Warm blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Each breath was an agony that not even blood rage could quell. It ebbed away, leaving her crushed and vulnerable. Her left arm, the only bit of her not pinned by jagged stones, seemed to raise on its own, aglow with green electricity, but it sparked and faded away. She didn't even have the strength to open a tear. She wondered idly if her spine was broken. She hadn't heard a single complaint from her legs. That didn't seem to be a good sign.

Then cool hands lighted on either side of her jaw. “C-Cole?” her voice was a burbling whisper around the blood in her mouth.

“Shhhhh.” the boy leaned down, his forehead against hers, his hands cradling her jaw. She realized vaguely that his face was upside down. He was kneeling at her head. The rest of her was buried under the rubble. Something fell on her cheek. Blood. Cole's. He had a cut on his face and it was bleeding down onto her. She wished she had the strength to reach up and brush the blood from his cheek. Then she felt it. A little spike of energy. Cole, bless his heart, was trying to feed her his own strength. She might have sobbed, had she had any air in her lungs. It wouldn't be enough. Even if he gave her everything he had it wouldn't be enough to save her. But...she raised her left arm again, locking her fingers into the veil, feeling the easy pull as it tore.

She felt something else then. Not the usual sting of an open rift. Her hand shone with green light and she felt Cole's hands still holding her, his forehead against hers and then it was as though she had slid backwards into a pool of cold water. Held suspended in it for a long moment, before she stood up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy wow. Shit is going down!! What happened to Astlyr? Is she dead? Crippled? Is her fortress going to fall? Shit son!
> 
> On the plus side we finally got the scene we Cullen lovers have all been waiting for. For Astlyr to finally tell the man that she loves him...sort of. Kadan is close enough, I think. Plus dragon tooth ;)
> 
> And Viv is a mother truckin' badass! June is in for a rude surprise if he thinks he can handle her!
> 
> I totally made up all the facepaint meanings when Jones was putting the paint on Astlyr, so don't bother trying to look them up in the wiki. Haha.
> 
> I *might* be able to get you your next exciting chapter out earlier than next Thursday. We shall have to see how my work schedule looks.
> 
> HUGE thanks to anyone who is still reading this monster! I hope the ending is full of surprises and everything we hoped for from the end of DA:I, but didn't get. :)
> 
> Much love to you all, gentle readers!
> 
> Next: 9/3/15 (if not sooner)
> 
> Keep up on FB: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	40. The Ways of New Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter Astlyr was down and out. Pinned under rubble with what is probably a broken back. But that can't be the end. You know it, I know it, and Astlyr knows it. But what happens to free her from this slow death? Find out now!
> 
> PLEASE READ:  
> Sometimes I write scenes with certain music to accompany them. This is one such case. In this chapter you will see a line of ****** These are to indicate where you should start playing this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIjWaulrLjs  
> This song has no lyrics, you don't have to worry about that. Some people will read faster or slower than others, so feel free to put the song on repeat to keep the mood.
> 
> Of course, you are free to ignore this at your leisure. ;)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Part 40  
The Ways of New Gods

She was aware of the voices first. No. Not voices, not precisely. They didn't call to her ears, but tugged at her mind. A dull thrum in her thoughts, some more distinct than others. One voice might break through the wash of its fellows; a sharp yell of pain. It was all pain. Weeping, complaining, screaming. Quiet, subtle hurt and worry from the civilians hidden under Skyhold, to the agony of death from the wounded soldiers in the yard. Yet, somehow, she was able to push them all aside. To concentrate past the pleas.

The next thing she realized was that she was standing. Standing in Skyhold, but not as she had ever done before. Everything was smaller. The soldiers who rushed around her feet only came to her ankles. “What-” she muttered, and her voice was two voices. Male and female. Hers and... “Cole?” But that was wrong. He was here. She was here. One. Together. His thoughts were her thoughts and his words her words. There was not an inch of separation between them. She almost reached up adjust a hat she knew she wasn't wearing. Having been a single entity all her life she had no context for the feeling to being two.

Then something roared, struck at her. That got her attention back to the matter at hand. Elgar'nan. She knew him, that much was certain. He too was smaller, just as everything else was. He came up to her ribcage now. He was staring at her with his single, small eye. His whole frame shook with obvious fury and she could hear his pain too. Guarded, bubbling up from below a fathomless depths. Surging towards the surface like black sludge. Astlyr stepped carefully, looking down at her feet to avoid treading on anyone. The soldiers of both armies had stopped fighting one another to get clear of this new threat, whatever it was. She could hear their fear of her too. For a moment she saw a flash. The voice in her mind told her what she looked like to them.

She was herself, Astlyr, only much much larger. Her feet had transformed into talons, her hands had become more-claw-like, and she had a tail. I massive, rudder-like appendage which she had to struggle to keep from taking out another section of wall. Her horns were larger, like a dragon's, and her eyes yellow and slit pupiled. The people were terrified of her. She flexed her powerful limbs, hearing the gasps of terror and confusion from the everyone below.

Elgar'nan charged. She met his change with her hands, grasping both his tusks. He pushed her back, almost smashing into a section of wall. Her tail swung to balance her and several soldiers went flying. She could only hope they weren't hers.

She telepoted away. Without a thought, or considering how to perform this action. She merely blinked herself clear of her fortress home. She stood in the snowy valley beyond the bridge, near where the enemy siege engines and a few remaining scraps of the elven army stood. Wisps of cool smoke dissipated around her.

She might have been confused, but the Cole part of her kept her kept her on track. She'd always been able to teleport at will. Of course she had. “Elgar'nan!” she roared, her voice shook the mountains. “Face me!” Whatever had happened to her, whatever she was, she knew what she must do. Her people needed her to defeat the foe. To win the day as the biggest and the strongest once again. Only this time she was even bigger and stronger than she had ever been.

Something swooped in on her right. Mythal. She could feel the god's pain, just as Cole had always described. Like shaking off cobwebs. Like a mystery held close to the heart. It didn't even feel new to her. It was as though she had been sensing it her entire life. Her life, when she had been both a ghost in a spire and a child with horns. Both tortured by templars and raised to be strong. This combination of memories, of histories, made her feel a surge of warm strength rush through her. She also felt Mythal's confusion and rage. The goddess might not have known exactly what had happened, but she rightly perceived Astlyr as a threat.

Mythal gave an enraged cry, coming in to blast Astlyr with flame and attack with her claws. As the dragon swooped low Astlyr reached out, little noticing the fire that bathed her. She snagged the dragon's wing in her claws she used the goddess' momentum against her to smashed her, bodily and hard, into the side of the mountain.

The dragon thrashed for a moment then transformed, becoming a small, limp figure in the snow. Astlyr looked down at the still form. Still in the body she knew and recognized. A bald elf with blue eyes that no longer shone with clever mirth, but ambition and hate. Astlyr did not hesitate. Why would she? This was not Solas. The elf who lived by that name had died years before. She knew without doubt who she faced now as she flexed her deadly claws and brought them down, transfixing the goddess. She heard the cry of pain in both her ears and her mind. Then the rasp of death as Mythal's latest body breathed its last.

There was a thunderous roar of rage. Elgar'nan was charging away from Skyhold towards her. Astlyr smiled, narrowing her eyes. A power such as she had never felt surged through her body. Her left hand was alive with Fade magic. She had no idea how the anchor would work with her current form, but it didn't matter. She met the charging god head on. Once again she grappled him, turning his charge away and sending to smashing to the snow. He skidded, tearing up turf and crashing into one of his own siege engines. Astlyr was only then aware that magic and arrows were being fired at her by those of Elgar'nan's forces who had remained outside the fortress. She could hear their fear too. Yet they also ached with an ageless desire to serve this god-king, this Elgar'nan. Did he hold them in a magical sway, or had they truly ached for old masters for so long that when they finally had one again they fell easily back into their worshipful place, just as Fen had predicted?

She focused her attention on the god before her. Let the elves try to harm her. Their arrows and magic were tiny stings to her. Many of the soldiers wisely fled. Her hands prickled and she looked down at them. Twin daggers, long, curved and deadly, had appeared. They felt natural in her grip, as though they had always been. Fade magic sizzled down each weapon and she smiled a dull, hollow smile.

Elgar'nan rallied and charged her again. Fade magic rippled over his own body. The veil was torn open behind him in an ugly scar. Astlyr sealed this as easily as she might brush away a fly. He would not force any spirits to come to his aid. This time she met Elgar'nan with her fists and blades, smashing his head down to earth with a deadly blow. He ground into the snow and stone, scrambling to stand, bleeding thickly over the white and disturbed earth. His jaw hung at an awkward angle now. His single eye was bloodshot. She thought he might turn. Transform into his smaller shape and try to flee her. Instead he snarled words garbled by his mangled jaw, though he spoke more with magic than his strange lips. She felt the static of it.

“YOU. You dare to do this? You are all of you beneath me! A heathen race! An abomination! Your people have no right to walk our world! I am a god, you dull creature! You are unworthy!”

“But I am worthy,” she felt the Cole part of her flare. Those memories of fear and pain as true as if she had lived them. As though she had felt a templar's blow, known the cold and loss of abandonment. And then there was a rush of the deepest of understandings. Of knowing his...her...both of their places in the world. “These are the new ways, Elgar'nan. This is the new world. Whatever you were before, you can never be that again.”

“I WILL have my vengeance!” his voice was a ragged wound, raw and bloody. The sound of an animal backed into a corner. The rattle of death ignored. He charged her again. “I will make you pay!”

She met his charge once more. Her body alive with strength as she had never felt in either of the lifetimes which now dwelt inside her. Better than blood rage. Stronger than adrenaline. He slashed her side and she barely felt the pain. His tusk left a gash on her thigh and it only intensified her anger. She did as her new instincts bid her. She went where the daggers needed to be, as though they belonged buried in the flesh of the god-beast. The fighting skill of two warriors was in her limbs. This god was old and tired, she was freshly minted. She was fast, faster than she had ever been. Yet her muscles were strong, rippling with ageless power. She could feel the Fade feeding her like a mother.

Again and again she drove the daggers home as naturally as if she was born to it. She wrapped locked arms around Elgar'nan's neck as he flailed. Fade magic erupted in useless bursts around them as he struggled against her strength. She twisted to have just the right angle, then dragged one of her new blades across his throat. His hide was thick, she had to plunge the weapon deep and Fade magic roiled from him like his blood. It blinded her momentarily, but she gamely held on, driving the dagger deeper. He went limp in her arms. Transforming into an elf once again, he fell to the snow. His pain surged for only a moment before death took him and his voice quieted and went still.

Astlyr exhaled, her new limbs shaking with wild energy. Only now did she take a moment to pause, as she stood staring down at the small body in the snow before her. She raised her left hand, the mark still there, aglow with an eager Fade-light. The twin daggers gone once more. Gone like smoke. She turned to look at Skyhold. Her Skyhold. Both parts of her, both her own longing and Cole's, were drawn to that fortress. Home for them both. She saw it through the eyes of a freshly declared Inquisitor, uncertain, eager to avoid the whole situation. She saw it with the eyes of a strange, 'spooky' boy, hoping to find a place of acceptance at long last.

And then she was falling. Not with her body, but in her mind. In fact, she had no idea what her body was doing, and she didn't care. She was floating in a world of blackness.

~~~~~

She was in her original form now. No tail or talons in evidence. She was clad in simple, green garments; the ones she usually wore during her Fade walks. The darkness around her was warm, even comforting somehow. She felt no earth beneath her feet, nor walls around her. She no longer heard the calling of hundreds of pained voices. Her thoughts were her own and it was almost too quiet. She searched her mind and could find no memories of dark spire corridors, or of a kind mage helping her. Of blood on pale hands and stained knives. Cole's memories had left her, her thoughts were truly hers alone.

“Astlyr?”

“Cole?” she turned around. She didn't know how she did it, but she brought herself about to face the boy. He was dressed as he often was in the Fade. White shirt, simple brown breeches, his feet bare. His face was youthful and healthy. His eyes alight and bright as twin stars. “What...what happened? Were we...?” Astlyr stammered.

“We were a god,” the boy answered her, drifting closer to her in the blackness. He too moved easily and reached out a slender hand. She twined her fingers with his, feeling their unusual warmth. He looked up at her, smiling a smile that stayed rather than flitting across his face like a memory.

“We were a god?” She wasn't certain how she was meant to respond to that information. Clearly they had come together to become something. Something extremely powerful which had faced down Mythal and Elgar'nan. Should she had felt more surprised? For some reason this notion was making too much sense. He was her Companion and there had been Fade magic everywhere. Why wouldn't they? Why couldn't they become something greater, as Fen'Harel and the other gods had?

“I unlocked your memory,” Cole said, still smiling up at her. “When we joined together I was able to remember, to make us remember.”

Astlyr shook her head. “I can't believe I forgot a Fade walk like that. Following Fen and Dirthamen into that memory to see how the gods were created. And we did the same thing they did?”

“Yes. I think so,” Cole seemed so nonchalant about it. As though this was the natural next step in their lives. “I found you as you were dying. I didn't try to join with you... but I did. I slipped in sideways like falling, and then we were something else. Something big.”

Astlyr glanced around again, still seeing nothing but the darkness in which they hovered. “Where are we now?”

“I don't know,” Cole too peered at their surroundings. “Something...inner. A place like the Fade, but not the Fade. A place that's made of the mind and doesn't belong, but right now we belong in it.”

“Can we get out?”

“Yes. Can't you feel it? We need to make a choice, and then we can go back to our friends.”

“A choice?” Astlyr felt an odd tugging in her chest. The thrum of Fade magic through her veins, or perhaps something else. Something deeper still. She understood, even as she had asked. “To remain a god, or to return to what we were? Separate and become two again?”

“Yes,” Cole tilted his chin, his eyes meeting hers without hesitation. It was odd to hold his gaze for so long. She was used to quick, fleeting moments of contact with her dearest friend.

“I...wow... I'm not sure I can make that decision,” Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck. “Would we be like Fen? Do you think? And the others? Able to take on a larger form, but retain a smaller one when we wanted?”

“I think so. Our change was different. The elves had foci to channel the Fade magic. We had the anchor,” Cole nodded towards Astlyr's left hand. She raised it slowly. The mark was still there on her bare palm. Pale green etched against brown skin, as it had always been. Cole reached up and delicately touched the mark with his fingertips. Little sparks followed the motion then faded as he withdrew his hand.

“The anchor helped us change? I suppose it makes sense,” she said, turning her hand a bit, feeling the mark tickle with wakefulness, even in this strange place. “So we could be gods? Is that what you want, Cole?”

*****

“It's not what you want,” the boy answered, still smiling, still looking at her face as though trying to memorize it. As though he had never truly seen it before.

“I don't?” She raised an eyebrow. “I don't even know what I want, how can you be so certain?”

“You want to live the life you were born to,” Cole answered, his long fingers gently squeezing the hand he held. “You want to grow old. To experience all the parts of life. To die one day.”

“I suppose I have never thought about it before,” she admitted, “Probably because an ordinary life and death were all I could ever have. Now...I could live forever.”

“And you don't want it,” the boy said again, his tone calm, gentle. Stating fact in the way he always did. Without strong emotion to sway his words. “You would see your friends grow old and die and you would live on, powerful and revered, but never truly happy. I could never let you be unhappy like that, Astlyr. I could never let us.”

“We could do so much good, Cole. Think of all the people we could help if we were a god,” Astlyr pointed out. “I can't let you be unhappy either, and you know that. I saw your past when we were joined. Your 'life' thus far. It's all fear and pain, Cole. You're afraid so much.” Were those tears threatening in her eyes? A salty droplet fell free and instead of sliding down her cheek, it drifted away into the blackness like a tiny jewel.

Cole reached with his free hand and wiped another tear away, “I am afraid, but you make me not. Being joined with you was the most...peaceful I have ever felt. I saw how you see me, how you watch over me. I never understood that because all I can hear is the pain and the sadness, but I felt your happiness. Your memories of laughter. When you're afraid, you fight. I know you'll fight for me You're my Companion and you watch over me. Standing strong, holding me together and I cannot fall. I cannot break because you have all my pieces in your heart.”

“Dammit, Cole,” Astlyr wiped another tear and sniffled, “Do you see what you're doing to me?”

“You're crying, but you're not sad,” he said, tilting his head. “I've seen this before. When a baby is born, or when two people love one another very much. Happy tears.”

“Yes well, I love you, Cole. I want you to be happy and feel safe. If becoming a god is the way...”

“We could be the mightiest Inquisitor Thedas has ever seen and ever would see,” Cole agreed, a solemnity had come over his face, “but then the people would be foolish. They would begin to worship us just like they did to Mythal and the others. I don't want that, and you don't. That cannot be our future.”

“So we'll split apart? Do you think we could ever become this again? This god-thing?”

Cole seemed to ponder for a moment, his face impassive. “I...don't know,” he finally admitted.

“Are you certain, Cole, that this is what you want?” She pressed one more time, feeling his fingers beginning to slip from hers. If felt as though a part of her was being torn away. Every fiber of her seemed to cry out to hold on to him. She almost yelped aloud.

“This is what we want,” he answered, still smiling. He moved towards her quickly, pressing his forehead to hers and she knew that the same warmth filled them both.

“Cole, I need you to know. To understand. You helped. You did so well. The world is better because you're in it. Don't forget.”

“I won't”

And then they both pushed away, letting their hands slip apart.

She was in the air, hovering, it seemed, several yards above the snowy earth. Below her she saw the bodies of Elgar'nan, and those of his soldiers that had had the misfortune of remaining too close to their fight. For a moment she panicked as she took in this alarming view from the air. She spread her arms as though to slow her decent, only to realize that she was not tumbling headlong to earth, but rather falling gently, like a feather on breeze.

She twisted in the air, seeing that Cole was beside her. His hat was firmly back in place on his head, his face once again pale and somber with sunken cheeks and sorrowful eyes. Yet, as the pair of them fell slowly to earth, borne by unseen magics, he looked at her and his eyes glinted with a flash of green. 

A chunk of Astlyr's hair had come free of its bun and fell over her shoulder, blown by the icy wind that lashed at them. Though still silver, it was streaked with blonde.

She felt no pain, could see no wounds on herself, or Cole. He met her gaze with his baleful stare and she smiled warmly at him. Silently thanking him for his choice, and his sacrifice for her happiness. He smiled back, quickly, briefly, but beautifully.

And then she and Cole were deposited in the snow, as gently as petals on a breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think? Show of hands, how many of you played the music? How many of you got all emotional? I sure did while I was writing it!
> 
> You all have my loyal beta and loving hubby to thank for this chapter. When the story was first starting out he was helping me brain storm. I told him about my idea for how the gods came about, and also what I wanted to do with Astlyr and Cole's relationship. He took the (now seemingly natural leap) to have her become a god too! Thanks Adam! Love ya!
> 
> How many of your guessed this is where we were going? Did any of you guess it before the previous chapter? If you did, you get a cookie! An invisible internet cookie.
> 
> The hubby was a little worried about Astlyr's battle with Elgar'nan and Myathl being too easy. This was actually intentional on my part. This was Astlyr's hulk vs Loki from Avengers scene (did anyone catch the Easter egg of a few of Loki's lines in there?). So she was supposed to just kick his ass. I hope everyone found it satisfying and not anticlimactic. (PUNY GOD!)
> 
> There are only a few chapters to go! I am hopeful I'll have everything out before the last DLC for Inquisition comes out and we (maybe) find out what Bioware actually had in mind for Solas/Fen'Harel. I hope that, whatever they decide, you will hold this version fondly in your hearts! I won't even be able to play the DLC because I play on Xbox 360 :(
> 
> I did hope that I would have chapters out more frequently until the end, but I forgot that my beta (the hubby) can only manage reading and editing about one chapter per week. I'll still hope for more, but we might not make it.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Without you this story is just me going on a really long rant. ;)
> 
> Next: 9/10/15
> 
> Keep up to date right here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Emily-Luebke-Author/283743888311991


	41. In the Arms of the Maker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super nervous to share this chapter with you all. I can't tell you why, because spoilers. If, at the end, you find yourself reaching for your sword or magic to come slay me, please read my notes before you decide that murder is the best option. *hopeful smile*

Part 41  
In the Arms of the Maker

As Astlyr's feet met the snow her legs buckled and she fell to her knees with an “oof”. She struggled to a kneeling position as Cole fell beside her. She checked herself over. Her armor was in tatters, bent inward here and there, but not bruising or breaking her skin, as long as she didn't try to move too much. There was no deadly pain in her lung and, while her legs felt wobbly and weak, the could feel them, and wiggle all her toes. The cold wind and snow rushed over her and she shivered. And then she laughed. It seemed the only thing to do. That half mad exclamation of emotion that overtook her so rarely, but when it did her voice was loud enough to echo off the mountains.

To her surprise, Cole joined her. His own laughter awkward, unpracticed and strange to hear coming from the somber boy. He managed to half stumble, half crawl over to her and the pair of them sat in the snow, letting go of confusion, fear, elation, too much emotion to hold.

Finally, with tears freezing on her cheeks, Astlyr looked up again, taking in her surroundings. The pair knelt beside a shattered siege engine. Large splinters of wood were scattered everywhere and there was a massive, clawed footprint in the snow beside it. She wondered if it had been hers or Elgar'nan's. She spotted a large group elves who had survived the ordeal, but they were some distance off. They huddled together in the lee of a rocky outcrop, watching her, she guessed. They seemed no more threat than mice cowering in a corner.

Her mind slowly pieced itself back together. “Skyhold,” she muttered, turning to face her home. Even from her distance she could see thin tendrils of smoking rising from the courtyard. Hunks of wall were missing, and the worst damage was easily the ugly gap where the main gate should have been. It looked like the mouth of a gaping wound. “Do you think they're still fighting?” she glanced sideways at her Companion.

Cole seemed to consider for a moment. She knew he was searching through all the voices in his mind. There must be so many after such a battle. “Only a few,” he answered after a moment. “The elves who saw what happened have stopped fighting. You killed their leaders. They have no one to guide them now and they're afraid.”

“I hope my commanders spare anyone who surrenders,” Astlyr said, bracing her hands against her knees and willing her muscles to be stronger. She and Cole had a long walk ahead of them back to the fortress. She wished that she had retained the boy's power to teleport.

“It is useful,” Cole agreed with her thought, matching her effort to achieve his feet. His legs were visibly shaking. “I'm tired Astlyr,” he said, tilting his head, “I've never been tired before. I didn't know what it felt like. I've only heard it in the pain of others.”

“You've probably still got little bits of me in you,” Astlyr said, accepting that there was no way to say this without sounding insane. “You'll recover in no time,” she reassured her friend, though he did not seem overly alarmed to begin with.

“I don't like it. My legs won't listen.” the boy grumbled, standing, then almost falling back to the snow as one of his knees quivered violently.

“I don't like it either,” Astlyr agreed. She managed to push herself upward and stand, feeling like a newborn horse, all wobbly on its legs. She stripped off what armor she could. This left her more open to the biting cold, but less hindered by the bent hunks of useless metal. She pushed her hair away with annoyance and cast her eyes about again. The lifeless corpse of Elgar'nan lay some feet from her. Slowly, unsteadily, she made her way towards it.

She knelt at the elf's side. He was almost unrecognizable. His face was mutilated, his jaw dislocated and almost sheered off. He was peppered with long, terrible knife wounds which still seeped blood to the ever growing puddle around him. There was not an ounce of life in him. Astlyr, trying to hold in her breakfast, which was threatening to make an appearance, pushed his hip until she saw what she was looking for. A pouch which held shards of a certain orb. Even broken she knew his foci must hold some power. She unbuckled his belt and slid the pouch free. It was slick with rapidly cooling blood. She did her best to wipe it clean on a patch of snow.

She looked towards the other side of the valley. Mythal's body would be there, somewhere. She tried to recall where the god had fallen, still locked in the shape of the elf, Solas. Just the notion of the trek to find Mythal's corpse made Astlyr feel even more drained. She glanced at Cole who stood back from her, watching with his usual, sorrowful expression. “Could you teleport to her and retrieve her foci?”

“The foci bite me when I touch them,” the spirit boy pointed out.

“Then you had better not. We don't need any more hostile Fade magic around here. We'll just have to walk over and get it ourselves.”

Astlyr slipped Elgar'nan's pouch onto her own belt, her anchor mark flaring a bit. She felt oddly reassured. The anchor was still there, and still active. She marveled that she would ever feel glad of the burden she'd been given so long ago. This power she never wanted, yet now she felt was as much a part of her as her hands or heart. She reached toward Cole, who stumbled to her side. The pair began a painstaking walk in the direction of Mythal's fallen body, and also nearer to Skyhold.

~~~~~

“I found them!”

Astlyr and Cole were perhaps half way to where she felt certain Mythal lay. Astlyr turned, surprised she had not noticed the riders who had set out from the fortress. She supposed her mind still wasn't fully back to its usual sharpness. She saw the flash of gold and knew Cullen's horse had taken the lead, spurred into greater action by its eager rider.

“Hello,” was all she could think to say as her man vaulted from the saddle before his horse had even come to a complete stop. He looked ready to rush her. To hold her and check her over to see that she wasn't injured, but he stayed himself, his expression wary.

Behind Cullen rode a guard, a mage she didn't know, and, to her surprise, Titus. The templar dismounted as well, not taking his pale green eyes from her. When she met his gaze he spoke without being bidden, “Dorian said I was to find out if you were alright. If I didn't he said he'd never see me again.”

Astlyr barked a laugh that made the group jump, even Cullen, whose hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, but he was clearly unwilling to draw on her or Cole. Astlyr checked her man over with her eyes. He had an ugly bruise on his jaw, which was swollen and dark blue, as well as a few small wounds at the gaps in his armor. His helmet was missing, discarded or knocked off, and some of his arm armor was was absent as well. All in all he looked pretty good for having just been in a large battle, though she had no way to tell if he had cracked any bones.

Cullen finally seemed to collect himself. “Are you...are you alright?”

“We seem to be,” she answered, still leaning against Cole, and he against her. They must have made an odd pair. A tall, horned woman and her lanky teenage companion. “We're worn out, but I suppose that is natural after...whatever just happened.”

“What did just happen?” Cullen asked, his eyes still wide and worried, like a wild animal snared in a human trap.

“To be honest, I'm not really certain,” Astlyr admitted, though she lowered her voice, her words meant for Cullen's ears only. “Cole and I were...transformed. Like the elvhen 'gods' were originally.”

“They whu... you...?” Cullen seemed at a complete loss.

“We joined together and transformed into... whatever it was that we were, and then we kicked Elgar'nan's ass. For now I think that is all you need to know. We were always on Skyhold's side and we're not about to do it again any time soon, if we can ever do it again at all.” Astlyr summarized hastily.

“It wasn't frightening,” Cole added. “It was nice. Like being held. I liked being Astlyr. It's over now,” he gave a final sort of nod, his hat flopping.

“And neither of you are injured?” Cullen asked, his posture less tense, though his expression had lost none of its confusion.

“Not that we can tell,” Astlyr shrugged. “Just worn out from our little adventure. How are things in Skyhold?” It felt endlessly absurd to be standing there in the snowy valley talking with Cullen as though she hadn't just transformed into a gigantic creature and battled two gods to the death. Her life in Thedas seemed to be a series of bizarre situations she wasn't remotely mentally prepared for.

“They're afraid, Astlyr,” Cole spoke to her in a quiet tone, so only she could hear. “They need someone to lead them.”

She managed to straighten, giving Cullen her old, firm stare. This simple gesture seemed to relax him, if not his fellows. “All we need to know is that Elgar'nan is dead, as is Mythal. I have what remains of Elgar'nan's foci here,” she gestured to the pouch at her belt. “We were on our way to gather Mythal's. It is an amulet she likely has about her neck. Her body should be somewhere over there, in the form of Solas,” Astlyr gestured to the spot. “We need to retain all the foci we can. These 'gods' are tricky, and have plenty of ways to bring themselves back from seeming death, but without their foci it is almost impossible.”

“Go,” Cullen ordered the guard. The man, still mounted, turned his horse and trotted it towards the place Astlyr had indicated.

“June and Falon'din?” she asked.

“Slain, last I saw” Cullen answered, shifting uneasily. “Vivienne dealt with the one called June. It took considerable effort to bring down... Falon'din, was it?”

“Yes,” Astlyr rubbed the back of her neck. The simple gesture seemed to calm Cullen further. Perhaps he was searching for little indications that she was herself. She remembered her blond tinted hair and wondered if other physical attributes had changed since she and Cole were one being. “When we get to Skyhold we'll have to be certain someone collects their foci.”

“What else?” Cullen asked.

“I don't know,” Astlyr heaved a sigh. All she wanted to do was fill a tub with hot water, crawl in, and never come out. “I still have no idea where Morrigan is, but perhaps Mythal's hold will be broken or weakened now,” she shrugged, the motion nearly toppling her and Cole. “We should return to Skyhold. I have people to check on, and a fortress that needs its Inquisitor.”

“Right,” Cullen nodded curtly. Clearly happy to fall back on his soldiering skills when things got confusing. “You and Cole take my mount. I'll ride with Lily,” he gestured to the mage, who smiled weakly.

“Are you certain Flash can handle my weight?” she gestured to the palomino gelding.

“It's only a short ride,” Cullen reassured her with a quick smile, indicating his attempt at a joking tone. He led Flash over to her and turned the stirrup for her.

It took two tries and a push from Cullen to get Astlyr onto the horse, but they managed it. She was able to reach down and pull Cole behind her easily. She wasn't certain Flash would tolerate the boy teleporting onto his back. The horse made a huffing sound as it sensed its new rider. Flash was a gentle enough animal, but had always preferred Cullen. She nudged her heels onto Flash's side and the horse sprang into action, heading towards Skyhold at a good clip.

Hooves clattered satisfyingly against stone as Astlyr and her small company entered the courtyard. She winced at the sight of her beloved fortress. Hunks of stone lay everywhere. Rubble, debris, and death. Bodies were still draped all over the place. The wounded were given priority. The healers had set up triage at the keep entrance closest to the infirmary. She could hear the cries of the injured all around her and it rattled her to her core. She didn't need to have Cole's abilities to feel the force of the pain around her. Her fortress and her people were in shambles. What remained of Elgar'nan's army that was still in the fortress seemed to have surrendered. She suspected that most of the elves outside of Skyhold had fled. The mage's staves were being taken and broken, thrown into a pile in the yard. The non-mages were likewise stripped of their gear. They stood in crowded bunches, guarded by whoever wasn't wounded. Astlyr was pleased to see King Alistair himself overseeing this. Though she could see a wound or two on his royal person, he seemed well enough to stand tall and take command.

No one came forward to take Flash from her, so Astlyr slid from his back and tied up his reins to his saddle so we would not trip on them, before aiming him in the direction of the stable and giving his flank a little swat. The horse strode away with little concern for the scene around him.

“Casualties?” she asked of Cullen as he dismounted. She couldn't help it, her eyes scanned the carnage for her inner circle.

“I'm uncertain. I rode out to find you as soon as the creature you fought was slain,” He finally stayed her with his hand on her shoulder. When she turned he gathered her fully into is arms and kissed her. There was the salty taste of sweat and blood on his chapped lips and she didn't care. He pulled away, searching her eyes, “Maker, I thought...I thought maybe I'd lost you, though I didn't understand how. I know you can't promise never to do it again but-”

“I plan to try very hard never to do that again,” she gave him a lop-sided smile, which seemed about all her facial muscles could manage before she twined her fingers into his hair and kissed him back.

“M'gel!” of course it would be Dorian who spotted her first. She pulled away from her lover, scanning the wounded for her friend. He was seated on one of the cots which had been brought out for the injured. He waved enthusiastically to her as Titus and Cullen joined her on the ground.

Astlyr moved instinctively to her friend's side. To her surprise, Cole went with her. She had expected him to be off already, helping the healers. Instead he seemed unwilling to leave her side, at least for the moment. Perhaps his senses were dulled by his time with her boring, qunari mind.

Dorian's face was pale, his caramel skin lacking its usual vibrant tone. His lips were thinly drawn with what she knew must be pain, but he gave her his biggest smile none the less. He seemed to be mostly uninjured, save for his knee, which was thickly bandaged, the white cloth already soaked through with his blood. He didn't stand to greet her when she reached him, so she knelt before him instead, taking his hands when they were offered. “Have you seen the others?” she asked, glancing around.

People had started noticing her now, and were staring. “Most of them don't understand. Many of them didn't see,” Cole said, his voice like the rasp of dry leaves. “Some know that you transformed, while others have heard it second hand. It's all muddled and twisted together. Words piling on words until the meaning is lost underneath. Are you still their Inquisitor? What happened to you? Was that monster really you?”

Astlyr flinched when he used the word 'monster'. As if she needed to give people more reason to fear her. Still, most had likely not gotten an adequate view of what had happened. She doubted they saw her laying almost dead under the rubble. For all they knew this had been part of the plan. An ability she kept in reserve perhaps. She would work out what to tell everyone later. For the moment she turned back to Dorian, asking him for information again with her eyes.

“Varric is around here somewhere,” the mage replied. “He's helping where he can. I am less useful at the moment,” he winced, one hand slipping free of hers and resting gingerly on his knee. Before Astlyr could react Titus was sitting beside Dorian, offering him a drink of water and putting an arm around him. Astlyr smiled at the young templar and he blushed, looking away shyly.

“I want to go find the others,” she looked up into Dorian's eyes, silently asking if he would be alright.

“Go on,” he managed a roguish smile. “An Inquisitor's work is never done. I think I saw them taking Viv over there,” he gestured to where the cots were laid out for the more seriously injured.

Astlyr gave him a curt nod, standing to go. She almost fell down as her weak limbs protested. Cullen caught her arm and she felt Cole's slim fingers wrap around her other elbow. The spirit boy's voice was so quiet she almost missed his words. “I can't hear her, Astlyr.”

Astlyr pushed her muscles into a fast walk, wending her way around cots and dodging healers. If Cole couldn't hear Vivienne's pain, did that mean she was dead? Panic rose in Astlyr's chest, an icy version of her blood rage, and just as consuming. She hardly noticed the weakness in her body as she moved, Cullen having a hard time keeping up now. “Viv!” she gasped, finding her friend's cot and dropping to her knees.

The mage was breathing. Her elegant features were marred by swelling bruises and bloody cuts, but her color wasn't terrible and her breaths were even. A young assistant healer rushed over, concern on his features, until he saw that the enchantress was still sleeping peacefully. He noticed Astlyr next and bobbed a quick bow. Judging by the way his eyes did not go wide, as those of so many others had, Astlyr guessed that he had not seen, or at least not understood, the god battle she had participated in. Likely he and his fellows had been focused on keeping the wounded alive. “How is she?” Astlyr put her hand gently on Viv's, though it was tucked under a thick, wool blanket.

“She'll live,” sighed the healer, swiping a blood encrusted hand over his brow and leaving a streak of reddish brown to match several others there. “A few cracked ribs, her mana is sorely depleted, and she sustained several sword slashes, but we've managed to stitch her back up. I've seldom seen one so resilient.

“Nor will you again,” Astlyr smiled fondly at her mage friend. As difficult and opinionated as Vivienne could be, she was stalwart and brave to a fault. Some might call it overconfidence. Astlyr thought it seemed to be just the right amount.

“Easy now! Bring him over here! Dammit, but he's heavy!”

Astlyr turned and her heart was in her throat again. Cole teleported from her side. She was secretly glad to see it, because she had been worried he might have lost that ability somehow. She had no idea what side effects could come of being joined with someone so completely, and then separated.

The person Cole had rushed to was clearly Iron Bull. No one else would take six soldiers to move on a stretcher. She caught sight of Krem limping along beside his leader, concern etched on his bloodied features. With Cullen still on her heels Astllyr made her way to where the men set Iron Bull down.

Her breath caught. “Oh no,” she exhaled. Her fellow qunari was a wreck. His skin's usual grey had gone almost white with hints of blue. One of his horns was broken, and his body was a lattice of long cuts. Damn him for not wearing enough armor, Astlyr bit down on her anger. His face was painted, as hers had been, but what good were colorful symbols in the heat of pitched battle? The healers knelt, one removing a bandage from Bull's stomach which was completely saturated with dark red. Astlyr felt sick. The gash on his abdomen was huge. An ugly tear that still oozed what little blood remained in her friend's body. She could see the bottom of a rib, not to mention several internal organs. She'd seen enough wounds like this to know this could not end with a happy report, even for a qunari.

Krem must have known it too. He knelt, with some effort, as Astlyr noticed there was a broken arrow shaft protruding from the young man's thigh. The mercenary ignored this completely. Several healing mages, already looking haggard and drained, rushed to join the group. Astlyr looked up with surprise to see Fen accompanying them. His skin was the color of paper and he looked ready to fall down, but he came. He didn't meet her eyes. Didn't even seem to realize that she was standing there at all, as he bent to try to dredge up what little magical reserve remained to him. There was not enough. Not even from three mages.

Krem made a strangled sound, holding Bull's massive hand in his and pressing his forehead to it. “Come on, Chief. Don't do this! You've lived through worse crap than this. Come on.”

Astlyr moved to kneel at Iron Bull's other side, near his head and out of the healer's way. Cole was already there, easing pain with his gift. His hands fluttered, alighting now and again. Iron Bull's eyelids fluttered and his single eye drifted open. His mouth was full of blood, and when he opened it, a fresh trickle ran from the corner of his lips. Krem hastily wiped it away with a sleeve. Bull's gaze drifted to Astlyr for a moment. “Hey Boss,” he slurred, his lips barely parted.

“Hey, Bull,” Astlyr said, her voice surprising her with its steadiness. She'd only had to do this once or twice. It never got easier. She cleared her throat and felt Cullen's hand on her shoulder. “We won,” she told her friend. “We got the bastard.”

“Good,” he said, managing to look pleased, even past all the blood. He turned to Krem, whose eyes were full with tears on the verge of being wept. “Krem, you get a promotion.”

“No, Chief,” the young man shook his head vigorously, “I refuse it,”

“You can't. You're chief now, Krem. You can't back down, the others need you.”

“Fuck it! Fuck this!” Krem snarled. “You're not dying, Chief! You can shut up about it.” Tears were now flowing freely down the mercenary’s face.

“Krem,” Bull managed to reach up a hand, landing it heavily on the back of his lieutenant’s neck. He pulled his friend down so they were forehead to forehead. He muttered two more words before his hand fell away and his last breath left him. “Horns....up.”

Cole wrapped skinny arms around Cremisius Aclassi as the man turned and wept into the spirit boy's shirt. His forehead was still stained with Iron Bull's blood.

Astlyr drew back, feeling Cullen support her. He embraced her, though no tears escaped her eyes. Instead she felt that dull, hollow feeling she sometimes got when someone died. As though her body was someone else's, her mind free from its tether. Idly her thoughts drifted, wondering how the qun treated their dead. But then, Bull was no longer part of the qun, so he wouldn't want their death rituals anyhow. She couldn't look at him, or Krem, any longer and turned her face into Cullen's shoulder.

When she raised her eyes she found herself meeting Cole's over Krem's shoulder. The boy's pale blue gaze still had flecks of green caught in it, like chips of paint fallen on a different painting. His expression was unreadable, save for its usual sadness which she had long since learned never to take at face value. He seemed to be trying to impart something to her, though she had no idea what.

“Inquisitor!”

Astlyr turned seeing Blackwall, looking by far the healthiest of those in the area. His armor, while dented, was not covered with cracks, or falling off of him. He had a long cut on his brow, but it had not been bleeding for a while. He wove his way around the wounded, stopping when he saw Iron Bull being carefully covered by the somber healers. He bowed his head, making a sign with his hand which Astlyr vaguely recognized as Andrastian. “I'm so sorry, Inquisitor,” he said, and he clearly meant it. His tough voice hitched.

Astlyr straightened herself and moved away from Cullen's embrace. She was the commander of Skyhold once more. “What is it, Blackwall?”

“I've two things to report,” the grey warden announced, standing to attention, if a bit sloppily. “The one called 'Dirth' wishes to speak with you, and I am also here to report that the fighting at the rear of the fortress has ceased.”

Astlyr was taken aback. “You mean, they were still fighting back there until now?”

“Well, for the most part. It was a mopping up of enemy forces, really. The fellows in there didn't get to see their leaders getting killed, so they didn't surrender right away. Our forces handled them.” he reassured her. “They've reported that they're bringing the wounded around now for triage.”

“Right,” Astlyr said, her tone edged with weariness. She had to admire Blackwall. Clearly the man had no idea what had happened to cause the slaughter of the attacking gods, but he did not ask. He rightly assumed he would be told later, if he needed to know at all. “Where's Dirthamen?”

“Over here,” Blackwall gestured, leading the way.

The god was stretched out on a cot looking almost as bad as Viv, though he was awake. His fathomless eyes watched as Astlyr approached. Once again she knelt beside a cot, feeling her body ache with the motion. Or was it simply her soul? How many of her people could she see wounded or dying while she was whole? It clawed at her insides and she struggled to ignore the desire to simply stand up and walk back out into the snow.

Astlyr took in the elf on the cot and flinched when she saw the most serious of his wounds. His right leg was severed just below the knee. The bandage over the fresh stump was already deeply saturated with red. She bit down on her lip to keep herself under control.

“You did it!” Dirthamen was beaming. How could someone who had just had their leg chopped off be so jovial? Then she recalled that the body he wore was only a temporary one. As she looked into his eyes she idly wondered if the spirit of Loyalty stared back as well as the man who had become a god.

“I did it?” Astlyr questioned.

“You and Compassion! You did it! I wasn't certain. I didn't know if you could, with no foci...”

“I think this did the trick,” Astlyr raised her left hand, her mark dormant and still once again, though she could still feel the veil. It was stretched thin, though not as much as it had been during the battle. She knew they would have to be careful. Too much warfare in a place could cause the veil to tear and spirits, friendly and otherwise, could pay them all an unwanted visit.

“I had no idea it could react that way. Fascinating,” Dirthamen said, staring at her hand with a wrapped expression on his face.

“You would say that,” Fen came limping over. He still looked ready to fall down, and sat heavily on the edge of his friend's cot as soon as he was given the chance.

Astlyr noted that the wolf god sported welts and bruises on his throat where Elgar'nan had been strangling him. “You should put some snow on those,” she gestured to the marks.

Fen blinked at her, not understanding at first, then reaching gingerly to touch his neck and winced. “Perhaps,” he conceded, though he did not move from where he sat. Astlyr glanced around for some snow, but it was all trampled into bloody slush. She grimaced and tried not to look down any more.

“But you and Compassion separated again,” Dirthamen looked dismayed. “Why? What went wrong?”

“My name is Cole,” said Cole, who had left Krem to mourn with his fellow Chargers. When had he appeared at Astlyr's side? He felt so natural there she wasn't certain exactly when he had joined them. “Nothing went wrong. We chose. It wasn't us, that being a god. Both you and Loyalty wanted to be what you are. Astlyr and I didn't. We're separate, but still whole.”

“I see,” Dirthamen looked slightly disappointed, but when Astlyr glanced at Fen he was smiling faintly. His blue eyes met hers with understanding. He knew she had seen what she might become in him. Her endless life might have been filled with endless regrets.

Cole stiffened, his hand grasping Astlyr's shoulder so hard she flinched, his fingernails digging in to her. She had abandoned her shoulder armor somewhere in the snow outside Skyhold. She turned to her friend, feeling his alarm leech into her. “I still can't hear her,” he whispered.

“Cole...” she reached for his hand, in part to steady him and also to pry his death grip from her flesh.

A rousing cheer sounded from nearby and Astlyr turned to see the guard come strutting out from one of the ground floor doors to the keep. They whooped and cavorted, most of them ignoring their wounds. Everyone who was able had turned to take in their unusual good mood. Astlyr saw they carried someone on their shoulders like a champion, and when she saw the flash of a blonde braid she knew who it was. “Jones?” she asked, getting to her feet once again, hearing her joints crackle in protest as though she were suddenly an old woman.

Guardswoman Jones was indeed hoisted onto the shoulders of her men as they cheered and celebrated. For her part she looked pale and baffled, as though uncertain how to feel about the situation. Astlyr and her group drew closer to the excited men and women of the guard. “What's going on?” she asked the nearest. “What happened?”

“Guard Captain Jones saved all our asses!” the man proclaimed, before suddenly realizing who he was speaking to and desperately trying to save face by adding “Ma'am” at the end.

Astlyr almost chuckled at this, but she pressed on, “what happened in the keep?”

“The enemy was getting in,” explained another guard. An older woman with a heavy Fereldan accent. “We didn't know how they were doing it, but when the guard got word that our soldiers needed us to reinforce, in we went to see things for ourselves. It was Jones who spotted it. The elves were using some sort of magical door. It had a funny frame around it-”

“Like a mirror,” someone else chipped in.

“Yeah, like a mirror, except it were a magical door of some kind,” the woman went on, almost talking over her compatriot. “Jones see this thing and she goes, 'we need to take out that door!' So quick as you like she forms us all up into what you'd call 'Hammer' formation, Ma'am,” the guard gestured to Jones, who had finally been set down, but looked no more happy about the situation than she had moments before, no matter how many people clapped her on the back in congratulation. She still wore a confused, even saddened expression which Astlyr wished she could place.

The guard went on, eagerly. “Captain Jones yells for the soldiers that are fighting already to just hold on for a bit longer. Then, while the enemy are fighting the soldiers, we follow Jones out from behind 'em in Hammer Formation and drive right towards that door thingy. I think the soldiers had tried for it a few times, but it took us and old Jones to get it done right! Took the enemy by surprise and we smashed that thing to bits!”

A raucous cheer went up from the group, and a few snatches of ill remembered victory songs were sung. Jones finally seemed able to acknowledge Astlyr. Her blue eyes were hollow. Not the eyes of a woman who had just won the day. “I'm so sorry, Inquisitor.” she mumbled. Almost inaudible over the sound of her people's cheering. “I was too late.”

The wounded began coming out of the doorway now. Helped or even carried by their fellows. And then came their dead. Astlyr's heart clamped down as though an ice spell had been laid over it.

“Set her down. Set set her down here!” Varric, whose arm was clumsily splinted and held in a makeshift sling, and Myfanwy, who seemed to have fared better than her friend, were walking beside two battered looking soldiers who were carrying a limp figure between them. Astlyr knew who it was, though her mind refused to accept this. Somehow there had to be a mistake.

The figure was laid on the mucky ground and Varric dropped to his knees, his good hand a flash of frenzied motion as he checked for a pulse at neck, then wrist. “Come on Cas. Come on girl. Don't do this to me! Cassandra! You don't do this to me now!”

Astlyr almost fell straight down to her knees, but Cole's slim fingers twined with hers and she managed to keep her feet, even as she watched her friend grasp the fallen warrior's face his hand, patting her cheek gently, then not so gently. Myfanwy was standing back, holding herself as tears left trails in the grit on her face.

“Cas, you stop this now! Do you hear me? Stop this! Cassandra, no!” Varric was shaking Cassandra's shoulders now, heedless of his wounds. “I can't do this again, Cas! I can't lose another friend like this!” He pushed back from her, brushing has hand down his face, unknowingly staining it with Cas's blood. He pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them, tucking his head down and shaking with silent tears. Around him the soldiers formed a loose circle, hands to their chests, helmets discarded in the slush. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry I made fun of you so much! I'm glad you brought me here, Cas! Do you hear me? Glad!” Varric croaked. He looked up at her one last time. “Oh Maker, please no...”

Myfanwy stepped forward, dropping to her knees she wrapped her arms around the dwarf's shoulders, holding him as he wept.

Astlyr looked to Cullen, who was standing like a statue. His eyes had gone grey. She'd never seen him like this. Not even in the throws of a panic attack. Yet she knew this look, and this feeling, because she herself was feeling it. In battle death seemed almost easy, natural. You had no time to think or to mourn. But after, to watched your friends die of their wounds. To allow yourself to feel the guilt of it. Astlyr already sense the prickle in the back of her mind, a thorn jabbing her heart and reminding her that she ordered Cassandra's unit to the back to face the waiting enemy that slew her. Cullen, no doubt, wondered why he had not taken her place. Offered to go in her stead. But no, Cas was a warrior. She would go where she was bidden and she would face whatever waited. Even death.

Astlyr reached out her free hand and caressed Cullen's jaw. He didn't seem to notice. His scarred lip twitched. His cheeks were going crimson, but not his usual blush. Emotion unexpressed was building under the surface and in moments it would boil over. She let Cole's hand fall free of hers and put her arms around her man. For a moment he didn't react. His arms remained stonily at his sides. Then, tentatively, one reached up and grasped her wrist and held it. It was all he did, but it was all that was needed. His lips moved fractionally and she felt his breath against her collar bone. She knew he was speaking a prayer.

“She's with her brother now.” A fresh voice spoke over the weeping. Sera. Where had she come from? Had she been with the civilians during the fight, as she had been ordered to do, because of her injuries? By the bow strung across her shoulders, Astlyr guessed she had not. The small woman spoke again, her voice steady as she stood back from the scene and recited, “'Maker, though the darkness comes for me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.' I heard her prayin' that once,” Sera shrugged. “I think she's where she wanted to be. She's with the Maker, and her brother.”

Long silence followed. More wounded and dead were brought out. Others cried over their fallen loved ones. Women keened and men fell to their knees to sob, and all this had been happening around them since the fighting had stopped, though Astlyr had not noticed it fully until that moment. In this moment of her own, profound pain, and that of her friends. Finally Varric seemed to rally. He lifted his head, stained with Cas's blood on his cheeks and brow. Then in one motion, he shrugged away Myfanwy's hands and fled back into Skyhold. The elf stood, her head low, dark curls having escaped their holder and falling to conceal her expression. She watched Varric go for a moment, then, slowly, she followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, please put down the torches and pick up the tissues. If you find yourself uncontrollably mad at me, remember, this isn't cannon. Your favorite characters are still alive and well in Bioware world.
> 
> So...I had planned to kill at least two characters from the beginning. I didn't want them to be OCs because I hate when writers create OCs just to kill them. I didn't want any redshirts here (Star Trek reference). I knew that one would be Iron Bull, and I hemmed and hawed over Cas or Viv to die as well. I decided on Cas because she would have the bigger punch, To me as well, I love her, she's the best! But remember what Varric said: (paraphrased) If you like a character you'll give them trials and adventures, and then an honorable death. I love Cas a lot, so I knew it had to be her.
> 
> I know Bioware has a reputation for killing characters, which seems unfounded to me (for the most part) I mean, in ME3 they killed everyone you ever loved, but other than that they're pretty tame. One of my problems with the ending of DA:I was that there were no stakes. No one in danger of dying. So I feel like I did what bioware should have done. *Pushes nerd glasses up nose*
> 
> But enough about death. What about life? What happens to Skyhold now that the war is over? What of the elves? Is Varric ok? Find out in the next chapter coming out LATER TODAY! Woot woot!
> 
> On a final note, has anyone played the latest DLC? I have not yet, and none of my favorite LPers are doing it yet. I only have Xbox 360 so I can't get it myself. Have you played? What did you think?
> 
> Next: 9/10/15 (not a typo!)
> 
> Keep up to date on me and my work right here: https://www.facebook.com/Emily-Luebke-Author-283743888311991/timeline/


	42. The New Ways of Old Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we made it! A year and 41 chapters later, we made it! I hope you have all enjoyed the ride as much as I did. If you hung on for the whole ride, you're literally the best! Shout out for yourself if you did!
> 
> Please read the author's notes at the end for special thanks, and other stories you might like!

Part 42  
The New Ways of Old Gods

Skyhold was injured. An ugly wound, already bandaged with a lattice of planks and scaffolding, gaped on its stone face. The fortress had hemorrhaged brave souls out onto the snow. Not the least of these were Cassandra Pentaghast and Iron Bull. It took two days of nigh constant funerals to ensure all of Skyhold's dead were given proper rites. The pyres burned in the snow outside the fortress and the ashes were scooped carefully into earthen containers to be placed in a hall of memories. A location had already been chosen for this after the Corypheus war. A large, high ceilinged room under the fortress had been selected for the task. No one was certain what it had been used for before Skyhold's skilled workers had created sturdy niches for the ashes of the dead to rest.

The smiths showed off their lesser known skills by creating placards for each urn, with the name of the fallen carefully etched on each. Cassandra's full name wouldn't fit. Astlyr didn't think her old friend would have minded.

An odd mood had fallen over the place in the days since the battle. Astlyr and her company were dogged by a morose sadness that wouldn't leave them. Like a heavy hand always resting on your shoulder, pushing down on you. But there was also the absurd feeling of joy. The battle hard won, the victory theirs once more. The notion of being unbeatable. It was strange to walk by the tavern at night and hear celebration from within, when all Astlyr wanted to do was round the corner to the practice yard and see Cassandra there, hacking away at a straw dummy, cheered on in her efforts by Iron Bull.

Now that the dead were seen to, and Skyhold fallen quietly into its strange state of mourning, the next most pressing issue was that of the elves. They had been taken out of Skyhold and installed in a snow camp in the sheltered valley before the fortress. The army-followers that Elgar'nan had not slain (children and those family members unable to fight) were found not far from where the enemy siege engines had been set. Some of the elves, mostly the Dalish, had attempted to flee into the mountains, but even their knowledge of nature and skills with magic could not keep them alive in the Frostbacks in winter. They were rounded up and brought back to the temporary camp. Most had been docile enough, though some had resisted. Skyhold dedicated many soldiers and much of the guard to keeping this camp under control while their leaders hashed out what was to be done with its new residents.

“There are just so many of them, and they're from so many different places,” King Alistair sighed. He had installed himself on one of the steps to the dais. No one seemed willing to step all the way up to the throne. Astlyr had ordered chairs be brought in for her conference with the royal couple. She didn't care to admit that the reason they were not meeting in the war room was because it was too painful to go in there without Cas. She felt it, and she knew for a fact that it hurt Cullen deeply, so she called for the meeting to take place in the main hall.

“We have the numbers here,” Josephine held up her writing board, which was cradled, as ever, in the crook of her arm. Her voice was husky with weariness and emotion. Astlyr knew she had not been sleeping well these past few days. “The majority are ex slaves. Then Dalish, with the least being city elves from alienages.”

The king spoke up. “The elves from the Denerim alienage begged audience. I spoke to their leader. One Shianni, whom I had met during the Blight. She assured me that by the time the enemy came to our gates their numbers were great. Her people were told that they had two options. To join this army, or to be slaughtered by it when it sacked the city.”

“They chose their side,” the queen spoke up. She was on her feet, an elegant woman in a pale blue gown. Her golden hair was in a perfect, braided bun and she even paced gracefully. She was every inch a queen, so contrasted by her husband, who sat like a common solider on the step, one foot splayed casually out in front of him. “Should they be given lenience because they were press-ganged? The slaves would have had little choice in the matter as well. To stay with cruel masters or join with the army. Denerim's elves should not be treated any differently.”

“But we still haven't decided how they should be treated,” Astlyr groaned, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling annoyed. She cut a glance towards where Ghilan'nain, Fen and Dirthamen sat. Once again they had been invited to the meeting, but encouraged to be silent unless they had something very important to relate. Astlyr had managed to explain a little of what they were to the king. Ancient beings with some claim to the lives of the elvhen people. Astlyr had mostly done this in hope of some leniency for them. She knew full well what traditionally was done to traitors.

“The archers and warriors would have important fingers cut off, so they could no longer wield their weapons. The mages would be made tranquil,” Alistair had explained with an unhappy look. It was clear that these outdated techniques for dealing with such people did not please him either.

“What other options have we?” Cullen had asked, though he looked anything but excited at the prospect of maiming their foes. “We cannot simply kill them. They've surrendered; are behaving peacefully.”

“That's because they know what she can do,” Alistair said, gesturing towards Astlyr. The king had been far more than impressed when it was explained to him, in the barest detail, what Astlyr had become and how she had dealt with the god king. Far from being alarmed, his eyes lit up and he seemed to think this new development an exciting one, even as Atlyr assured him she would not be transforming again, nor was she even certain she could.

“So we take them back to their slave masters?” Josephine said, her tone disgusted. “And what of the Dalish? Do we set them free, back to their nomadic lives as though nothing had happened?”

Alistair pondered for a long moment, hand rubbing his stubbled chin. “Make them vassals of Skyhold? Swear them to your service for a number of years. Once they had served they will be freed to do as they like.”

“I believe that works better when the enemy are not so numerous,” the queen said, her tone gentle. “To keep track of so many elves... impossible. Most would fly as soon as they had the chance. Some might even begin to have notions of attacking again. Or of raiding nearby villages. You have a great deal of clout-” the queen turned a deceptively demure gaze on Astlyr, “but I have my doubts as to your ability to keep all of these elves in line. Especially when they come from such disparate lives and circumstances.”

“If we do not return the slaves we will likely lose any chance we had ay alliance with Tevinter,” Josie pointed out. “And Halamshiral without its elven population will be crippled economically. The poorest classes are often the ones holding up an economy. Certainly some elves have remained, their city is not emptied. Elgar'nan would have left some of his forces there, to keep control. I suspect the Empress will soon retake her throne if she can, but it still leaves Halamshiral much changed.”

“Fuck Halamshiral,” Astlyr said and everyone stared at her. She felt an odd pleasure in it. “And I don't care about Tivinter either. The only tie I have to them is one of their mages, and I'm not giving him back.”

Josie winced, trying to keep her calm expression as the queen shot her a dark look. Astlyr chuckled at the notion that Anora might think Josephine could somehow act as Astlyr's handler. The diplomat spoke in a voice that people usually reserved for children, “you may not wish to continue relations with Tevinter or Orlias, but Fereldan as a whole might.”

“I too would rather we found a way to avoid sending these people back into slavery,” the queen said, and Astlyr raised an appreciative eyebrow. “But this might not be possible,” the woman finished.

“The elves only followed what's-his-name because they thought he was a god,” King Alistair pointed out, still musing, Astlyr knew, over her newfound power to transform.

Astlyr cut another look towards Fen, who was avoiding her eyes. “I'm not going to pretend to be their god,” she snorted.

“I see few other options than the ones we have laid out,” Cullen gritted his teeth. “Perhaps it would be best to return them. The Dalish may be welcomed into alienages...” he trailed off.

“The overcrowding would be absurd,” queen Anora filled in for him.

“We're back to chopping off fingers or killing them. We're talking in circles,” Alistair groaned.

Astlyr looked towards Fen'Harel where he sat with his fellows. Ghilan'nain had her head bowed. She was speaking to him, her white-gold hair falling into her lap. Astlyr watched her for a long moment. Finally she raised her head, her eyes sad. She too had failed. Fen's hands were balled into stubborn fists.

“We must have a ruling,” Anora said, her tone firmer. There was a flash of something in her eyes which Astlyr wasn't certain if she admired, or found dangerous. The look of one very used to being obeyed. “The kindest thing may be to return the slaves to their masters, the city elves to stricter alienages and to cut off the fingers of the Dalish-”

“I won't make anyone tranquil,” Astlyr said, fiercely.

“Then what do you suggest we do with their mages? Slap them on the wrist and tell them not to use their magic any more?” The queen had her hands on her hips.

“Majesty... these are a people,” a new voice, nervous and high, filled the hall. Everyone's head snapped around. Myfanwy had entered. She was a small, slim shape at the end of the massive room. Her hands were clasped in supplication to the rulers of Fereldan. “These are not just an army. Not merely a foe which had gathered against us. This is a race. Mine.” She drew nearer, her voice uneasy, but stronger now. For the first time Fen raised his head.

“Who is this?” the queen snapped.

“Myfanwy, this is a private meeting,” Cullen said kindly, rising to escort the elf out. She dodged his ushering hands easily.

“I understand, Commander, but I have come to speak on behalf of my people, and I will not be swayed.” She lifted her chin.

Astlyr stood, feeling that she should send her friend from the room, but unwilling to do so just the same. Instead she introduced, “this is Myfanwy, one of my inner circle.”

The elven woman did not miss Astlyr's introduction and smiled faintly, though her face remained pleading. “Majesties, the elves of the Dalish once shunned myself and my brother for our beliefs. We once lived in hiding because we feared the clans' wrath. Yet still I ask you, please, find a solution that will allow my people to live and survive. Slavery is no life. Being forced into an alienage where there is not enough room is no life. Being made tranquil is no life.” She had stopped before the king, bowing in the way Astlyr had seen elves use before the very important. Hands held out from her sides, palms down, bowing from the waist.

“I...” King Alistair faltered. “I'm sorry, miss. I truly wish, more than anything, that I had a solution for your people. They rose against us, and justice must be done.” The king sounded so pained while saying this that Astlyr almost walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

Myfanwy turned, her expression fierce, this time fixed on Fen'Harel, who visibly flinched. “You know what I am. What we all are,” he spoke, his tone quiet, almost unheard. Astlyr had to lean forward.

“I know. The People know. They don't care.” Myfanwy answered.

“They should know. We should not be worshiped as gods. We're living beings, the same as you.”

“The People saw their 'gods' die two days ago. They also saw you, The Dread Wolf, on the winning side.”

“It is a novelty,” Fen couldn't hide the smallest of grins that twitched the corners of his lips.

“If The People are to survive and be united, they need leaders,” Myfanwy looked to Ghilan'nain and Dirthamen as well. The god of secrets, while still very pale and unhealthy looking due to his wound, had an intense expression in his dark eyes.

“What's going on here?” Queen Anora asked.

“Something good, I hope,” Astlyr said.

“Your people need you, Lord Fen'Harel.” Myfanwy pressed.

Fen blinked a few times, as though her final words had struck him like a blow. “How can I-”

“We'll find a way,” Dirthamen put a hand on his friend's shoulder. Ghilan'nain seemed to have some understanding of what was going on. Her beautiful eyes bore a sharpness they had not before. “It is time, friend.”

Fen stood up, deliberately, decisively. “I will...speak to The People.” he moved towards the exit, followed by Ghilan'nain and Myfanwy, who were helping Dirthamen limp along on crutches,

“What just happened?” King Alistair questioned, brows raised. He had sat up on his step.

“The elves may have a new leader. One who happens to be my close, personal friend,” Astlyr said. “And one who I would trust to lead them.”

The queen opened her mouth to speak, but Cullen of all people cut her off, “I trust your majesties have every faith in your Inquisitor. She has proven herself nothing but loyal to Fereldan. Astlyr and Skyhold have twice stood between this country and disaster, and have come away the victor. May I humbly recommend that we try it her way?” He even dipped a small bow at the end, for good measure.

Anora looked baffled, but stalled in her argument. Josephine stepped neatly in, “Now that the matter of the elves has been put aside for a moment, I had something else of import I wished to discuss with your majesties. The title of Inquisitor and the fate of her Inquisition.”

Astlyr fought back one of her too-loud laughs. Josie was in rare form, going for the throat so soon. Whatever might be said of the diplomat, she certainly knew where her bread was buttered.

“What of it?” The King asked with genuine interest. Anora looked uncomfortable.

“Well, it is a fine title in times of war. A military title. However, as Skyhold is fast becoming a permanent, nay, necessary, fixture here in Fereldan, I feel it is prudent to ensure that the services it offers may continue. That Skyhold will always stand as a beacon of safety to those in need, and a firm warning to those that would threaten us. Not to mention-” she artfully dipped her head, a gesture Astlyr had spotted being used at the winter palace. “After Inquisitor Adaar's heroic actions to end the war with Corypheus, and to restore the veil, there was talk of a title.”

“Ah, yes,” the queen nodded, speaking a little too quickly. “There was talk of an arling-”

“Ah, but if your majesty recalls, we responded to this offer, indicating that a higher title would be necessary to keep the appropriate level of leadership here in the Frostbacks, which, until now, did not fall under any Lord's specific rule.”

“Redcliff-” the queen began, but was smartly cut off as Josephine plowed on. Astlyr had to hide her smile.

“We at Skyhold feel that nothing less than a Tyrnship will do. This would encompass the Frostback Mountains, which act as a natural deterrent to those who might think to invade; as well as Redcliff and the surrounding area. This would ensure that future 'Inquisitors', if you will, retain a vested interest in these lands, in maintaining them, and this fortress. It would also ensure that your majesties would continue not to be bothered with the staffing, arming and funding of Skyhold.”

“It all sounds reasonable to me,” King Alistair said. His blue eyes were sparkling and his lips twitched. He too was trying to contain a grin. He shot Astlyr a glance and she almost lost her composure when he included a wink. “We haven't had a proper Tyrn since I took the throne. I'm certain Teagan won't mind. He hasn't been at Redcliff much these days. The war drove him out. The very war that Inquisitor Adaar won, as I recall. I can see no issue-”

“Excellent,” Josie's quill scratch scratched across the parchment on her writing board. “I shall begin making arrangements for the titling ceremony at once. I would be best to get it out of the way while your majesties are still here.”

Astlyr shot a glance at Cullen, who was doing an extremely poor job of hiding the smile that wanted to show itself on his scarred face. She longed for that smile. It had hidden from her since the battle. She rewarded his efforts with a smile of her own. Though she found the idea of being made a Teyrna to be alarming at best, she knew that Josephine was probably correct. This was the only way for her to keep her power in Skyhold, and for her to continue to stand as its leader. When had she decided that was what she wanted? When had the thought of giving up her command, and her people, become a more terrifying notion than having an impressive and imposing title heaped on her. She realized that she would give a thousand awkward speeches if it meant she could stay. Perhaps that would be the case. She wondered if Teyrns had to do a lot of public speaking.

“And might I make another suggestion,” Josephine asked. The queen was looking a bit windswept by the diplomat's mile a minute style.

“Of course,” King Alistair answered.

“With the new developments we have had today, I believe I may have an idea or two about the elf situation.”

~~~~~

“Do you think it's working?” Astlyr asked. She, Cole and Cullen were standing on one of the few safe sections of wall which remained near where the gate had been torn open. All around them work crews were bustling. Mages and non mages alike were hard at work, already restoring Skyhold to its former glory. Perhaps better. She had overheard Rogers talking of improving the main gate with better alloys, and the mages discussing the use of spells in the mortar to make the wall exceptionally strong.

“I can't tell,” Cullen said, leaning his arms on the ramparts.

They were watching the elven prisoner camp. Encircled by watchful soldiers, the elves within had gathered for a meeting. Even from so high on the wall Astlyr could see how different they were from each other. Many of the Teviner elves had tanner skin than their Southern counterparts. The Dalish hung back and stuck together in a clump of green garb and tattooed faces. The city elves seemed aloof, the most uncertain of the bunch.

The meeting with the king and queen had been adjourned, at least for the moment. Josephine was still hard at work hashing out details with the two rulers, but Astlyr and Cullen were not required. Josephine might have liked Astlyr to stay, but she knew she would be next to useless with the talks. If there was nothing to stab, then she wasn't really all that helpful. “I hope Fen's alright,” Astlyr said, leaning to rest against the wall as well.

“He's trying,” Cole said, He was sitting on the rampart, one heel tap tapping against the cold stone. He didn't mind the wind that whipped at his frail shape. “The People are confused, frightened. They thought their gods had returned and it was a lie. Maybe he's lying too.”

“Do you know what he's telling them?” Astlyr asked, knowing the answer.

Cole shook his head, but still spoke, “Hands shake and sweat cold. All those eyes. Fear in my chest like a fist. The wolf was banished from his pack and now he wants to come home, but what if he can't? I don't want to be what I was. I can't be what They were. Winter wind and the smell of blood mingle and I taste terror.”

“He can handle it,” Cullen said, gently. He moved to be directly beside Astlyr, looping an arm around her waist. “You worry about him too much.”

“I worry about all of you, and I do it exactly the right amount,” Astlyr countered, squinting. Something was moving down below in the camp. Her eyes went wide as a huge, black shape appeared, looming over the elves. The Dread Wolf. He stood like a shadow, hunched and intimidating, but he did not strike out, but instead sat, docile. Then, beside him, an elegant creature emerged. A hala, with a coat as golden as the sun. Her twisting antlers were a sight to behold, and she seemed to glow from within. She stood beside the Dread Wolf without a hint of fear or mistrust. Shortly a bear joined them, though it limped heavily, missing a rear paw. Astlyr wondered if Dirthamen would still maintain the injury in his largest form, whatever that might be. Though she had returned his foci to him, she had not seen him take his largest form.

“Cole?” she asked, not even looking at the boy, her eyes fixed on the strange animals below.

Her Spirit Companion knew that she wondered about the mood of the elves. “Nervous, distrustful. Noses run, wounds are still fresh. Don't believe. He was the evil one. Mama said don't trust him, but the Lady Hala is with him, and the Secret Keeper. The Dread Wolf keeps his word. I remember the story. Just never the way you want.”

“Are they going to follow him?” Astlyr asked urgently.

Cole did not reply. A small elf, perhaps ten years old, it was difficult to tell from such distance, stepped towards the three animal gods. She knelt, using her hands to form something in the snow. Was it a little basin? Then she took what looked to be a feather from her hair and laid it in the basin. “She's making an offering,” Astlyr breathed.

One by one the elves knelt, doing the same as the girl. Each placing some small trinket into the tiny altar they had made. The three gods looked at one another. Then they transformed back into their elvish forms. They made their way slowly into the camp, stopping and seemingly exclaiming at every offering in turn, then returning each item to the giver.

“I will not be worshiped,” muttered Cole.

“I think it's working,” Cullen said, his expression clearing. He had been squinting, and the gentle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes stood out. Astlyr took a moment to appreciate them. She found she endlessly loved every imperfection of his face. A deep sense of relief overcame her. Perhaps, for the first time since this whole damned 'god' issue had begun, they were getting things sorted out. Part of her was still suspicious. Part of her still did not trust Fen'Harel, but she knew she had to. He was her friend, and now he was his people's best hope for a fulfilled and successful life. She already felt terrible for all the elves she and her army had been forced to slay.

Then something else caught Astlyr's attention. A group of her mages, moving with purpose, on the bridge below. They were taking turns looking down into the ravine and talking to one another. Astlyr thought she recognized a few of them. Earth mages who had been instrumental in keeping Skyhold in one piece. Curious, Astlyr moved towards the nearest, intact wall steps. Cullen hurried to catch up and Cole teleported down to meet her. She wove her way across the busy yard, watching the mages. They still seemed to be pointing and gesturing to something below.

As Astlyr and company drew nearer the mages all raised staves and hands, their many-colored magics flaring to life and snaking through the air and downward. Astlyr stopped, watching curiously. 

“What are they-?” Cullen began to ask, when there was a shuffling, rumbling sound from below the bridge. The mage's were obviously straining now, pouring more power into their spells. Cullen looked concerned, as though not entirely certain what they were doing was safe. “Was the bridge damaged? Should they be standing on it to-”

“Wait,” Cole said. There was a hint of mirth in his voice, which Cullen had likely not detected. Astlyr was impressed with her spirit friend. Usually he had no concept of the dramatic. He was steadily getting better and better at negotiating a human world, and how he and his powers fit into it.

Something came into view then, riding up past the edge of the bridge. At first it looked to be a boulder, but then Astlyr saw it twitch. “Alun?” she gasped, finally moving towards the mages, who were lifting the stone wolf's form carefully onto the bridge.

Once the magic around him was released, the wolf uncurled. He looked a bit battered, but in one piece. His ear was still missing, and there were long cracks all over his body, but he looked brightly at the mages and wagged his heavy tail in excitement. The mages cheered and patted one another on the back. They stopped when they saw Astlyr striding towards them. “Ma'am,” the one who seemed to be in charge of this particular endeavor hurried to greet the newcomers. Astlyr recognized her. The elf with auburn hair who had been playing with Alun when they had returned with Dirthamen. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“You found Alun,” Astlyr said, needlessly.

“We thought he must have been shattered when he fell from the bridge,” said another of the mages. A young man with a lopsided smile.

The redheaded elf filled in, eagerly, as she petted Alun's stone side as though there was soft fur under her fingers. “But then we realized that the snow down there is very deep. So we tracked down your friend, Master Cole,” she gestured to the spirit boy.

“Well, you did, mostly,” admitted another of the mages. This one was younger, and shot an uneasy glance towards Cole.

Astlyr gave her Companion a pleased look. He was letting more and more of Skyhold see and remember him. Allowing himself to be sought rather than doing the seeking. This was a rare thing indeed. He glanced shyly up at her from under the brim of his hat. The flecks of green in his eyes remained, startling Astlyr from time to time.

“Cole told us that he could sense Alun down there. Stuck in the snow,” said the smiling mage.

“Poor fellow had no way to tell us he was there, and he was stuck so deep into the packed snow that he couldn't get out,” the red haired elf crooned, still soothing Alun with her hands as though he were a child. For his part, the stone wolf sat down on his haunches, the end of his tail wagging, and looked quite pleased to have been thought of and rescued.

“It is good to have you back, Alun,” Astlyr patted one of his thick legs. “You were very brave in the battle.”

Wag wag, thud thud, went Alun's tail against the stones. He reached down his nose and gave one of the mages a playful shove. The man was knocked over, but laughed from his new position on the ground.

Astlyr couldn't help herself. She smiled broadly. The first big smile she had mustered in a while. To her surprise and pleasure, Cullen mirrored her expression. She couldn't stop herself. She took him in her arms and planted a kiss on his lips. The mages whistled and hooted, which made the templar blush. Especially when Astlyr, grinning impishly against his lips, dipped him.

Cole interrupted the revels by plucking at Astlyr's sleeve. She turned to her Companion, “what is it?”

“Varric needs to be told something,” Cole tilted his head, like a listening animal.

“Told something?”

“Yes. 'Hollow. Empty inside. She brought me and then she left me, and they always leave. Bartrand, Hawke, Cas. Thorns that stab my skin and won't work free. I can't bleed in this place any more.'”

“Dammit,” Astlyr groaned. “Where is he?”

“His rooms,” Cole answered, absently playing with a loose thread on his frayed tunic.

“What does he need to hear?” she asked as she turned to go.

Cole shrugged. “He doesn't know.”

“Do you want me to-” Cullen moved to follow her.

“No, Kadan,” she pressed a gentle hand to his chest, “I'll go. I'm the Inquisitor after all. Troop morale is part of my job.” 'Apparently' she thought wryly. Perhaps she would hire someone, now that it seemed she would be a permanent fixture at Skyhold.

She made her way back into the fortress and towards Varric's room. Like Dorian, he had a small living space, though his was chosen for proximity to the tavern rather than the library. Astlyr had wondered at this, as he could hear the loudest of the tavern patrons shouting, even through the stone walls, late into the night. He claimed he liked it. That it made him feel like he had his finger on the pulse of Skyhold. He hated quiet. Astlyr recalled this fondly as she approached his door. It was slightly ajar and she could hear him move around inside. She gave the door a little push and rapped on the frame with her knuckles.

The dwarf had his traveling packs out and open on his small bed. His room was sparsely furnished, but heavily cluttered. Every surface was a repository for books, papers, quills and charcoal sticks. His walls were plastered with papers. Elaborate outlines for stories he was working out in his head. Lately these were accompanied by Myfanwy's drawings. It always amused Astlyr to no end that the papers stopped at about her chest height on the walls.

Now, however, almost all these outlines were taken down. Many were in carefully stacked piles on one of his two desks or on his bed. He was clearly in the process of packing them up with string, or rolling the less hefty sheafs. His stocky oak wardrobe was already empty and Bianca stood in the corner by the door, as though waiting for him. At the moment Varric was struggling to tie up one of his packs. It was difficult with one arm still in a sling.

Astlyr approached, reaching over him easily she tied up the pack. He stopped, not looking up at her, just frozen for a moment. Not in fear, she wasn't certain what he was feeling, but she carefully backed away, looking for something to sit on that she wouldn't crush. In the end she settled for leaning against the wall. “Going on a trip? Should I suit up the team?”

Varric snorted, but didn't turn. Instead he went back to organizing some more of his papers. Astlyr folded her arms. “Were you planning to leave without telling anyone?” he didn't answer. “Did you tell Myfanwy? I doubt it, or I would have seen her looking very upset today.”

“She'll be fine,” Varric said, his voice was husky and dry.

“Will she? She really admires you Varric. Of all the people here that she could have bonded with as a friend, she chose you.”

“Stop it, Astlyr,” Varric turned. His face was still tear stained, as though he hadn't washed it in the days since the battle. Astlyr flinched at his use of her real name. Like a weapon. “She'll be alright. You'll be alright. Everyone will.” He said.

“Is that how your old friends felt?” She raised an eyebrow. “At Kirkwall?”

“Hawke was the only one who ever kept in contact. I sent Isabella a letter when he died. Never heard back.”

“Were you planning on sending me your new address?” Astlyr asked, letting herself slide down the wall to sit on his floor, making it abundantly clear that she was here to stay. A mountain seated in his bedroom. She rested her arms on her knees and fixed him with a firm look, which he avoided. If he was going to use her name as a weapon, she could fight back.

“Look, Astlyr, this can't keep happening. I can't handle this any more. All my best friends-” he bit off his words as emotion made his voice go high. He turned his back to her. When he collected himself he turned back, though only profile to her. At least he had stopped packing. “We live in a dangerous place. We live in dangerous times. Friends die as fast as I can make them. I can't handle it any more. I'm not that kind of person.”

“What kind of person?”

“I don't know,” he chuckled, a sound like someone was hitting him in the chest with their fists.

“Skyhold was the first place I ever made close friends,” Astlyr admitted, her own voice betraying a hint of the sorrow that was still fresh inside her. “People who didn't just look at me and see a giant oaf. Something to be feared.”

“Oh trust me, Pointy, when you first showed up, everyone was afraid of you.”

Astlyr smiled. There it was. Her nick name. Was he softening? No matter how much her friends might tell her she was good with people, she always felt like she was fumbling along in the dark for the right words, the right gestures. Maybe she was just a supremely good guesser. “But you all got over it. You and...and Cas... were the first. When you looked at me I never saw your eyes go wide like I was about to attack you. You looked at me like a person. Right out of the gate.”

“Sure,” Varric sighed, moving again, packing again.

Dammit. Astlyr gritted her teeth. She had been so happy when most of her new friends had decided to hang around after the Corypheus war. Now one was readying to go, and he hadn't even been planning to tell her. “Varric...”

“What?” he grunted, clumsily tying a sheaf of paper with a waxed string.

“What about the book you were writing about our adventures? “'Thedas, and the Weird Shit We Found There, A History'? You were going to have Myfanwy illustrate.”

“Plenty of writers are hermits,”

Astlyr laughed then, her too loud voice filling his little room to the rafters. “You, a hermit?! You'd go mad in a week! Varric Tethras without people to talk to? That's like the day without the sun. Like a joke without a rude punch line!”

“Oh stop,” Varric lobbed something at her. A stuffed nug. She set the creature in her lap.

“I think you should stay, Varric,” she said, standing then, setting aside the nug and holding her hands slightly forward, palms towards her friend. A gesture of trust. “You may avoid the pain of our deaths, but you also avoid the joy of your life. People.”

“I'll find other people.”

“We are your other people,” she said, taking a step towards him. “You have a book to write, and Myfanwy has illustrations to draw for it, and I insist on having it read to me, by the author, as I fall asleep. And think of Cole! He loves you too, and he'll be devastated if you go. He won't understand. Plus, I was thinking of offering you another job. As official Skyhold chronicler. It'd pay. I know you don't need the money but-”

“Pointy,” Varric raised a hand. She stood in front of him now, close enough to touch. He had to lean back to look her in the face. “Shut up.”

“Sorry,” she said, looking contrite, or at least what she hoped was contrite. It wasn't an expression she needed often. Varric sighed heavily, as though letting go of a breath he had been holding the whole time. “Look, I'll think about it. I won't leave right this second, alright? And if I do, I'll at least tell Puppy.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. Maker! What are you, my mother?”

Astlyr made a face and Varric laughed at this. His smile almost seemed to hurt him. As though the muscles of his face were already unused to his much accustomed expression. Astlyr planted a hand on his back, ushering him towards the door before he could change his mind. “Come on Varric, let's go check out what is left of the tavern. I heard that most of the casks made it through the assault.”

“Hmmmm, you don't say,” the dwarf allowed himself to be ushered. The two walked side by side down the corridor, Astlyr shortening her gait considerably so as not to outdistance her friend. “Hey, Pointy. Did you just make up that 'official chronicler' job?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so,” he grinned, a little bit of his old self showing through at last.

~~~~~

Dorian, limping about with the aid of a cane, and Titus were already well established at a table when Astlyr and Varric arrived. The mage waved enthusiastically when he spotted them. Though part of the tavern had been struck by falling debris during the battle, and even got a bit singed by dragon fire, the place remained open for business. The tavern keeper clearly understood the important role the establishment played in the morale of Skyhold's populous.

It was as though word went around silently that a 'family dinner' had been called. One by one people trickled in. Cullen, Josie, Blackwall and even Viv, who was on the mend thanks to her own magics as well as Fen's. Sera was already there and she clamored down from the rafters where she had been sharing space with a mouse she had befriended.

Even Krem, who looked world weary and sleep deprived, wandered over to join the bunch. Though Fen and Myfanwy did not arrive, Astlyr understood that they had important business in the elvish camp that night. Last in were Jones and Cole. The guard captain had been given another promotion. She was now head of Skyhold's entire guard. Taking on part of Cassandra's old responsibilities. Astlyr knew she could handle it.

Before long everyone was laughing and sharing tales. Drinking to the health of fallen friends, and remembering their exploits. Cole was the best at it. Somehow his stories, while rambling and a little hard to understand at times, were the truest reflection of who Cassandra and Iron Bull had been. More tears were shed, but arms went around shoulders until their 'puppy pile' as Sera called it, felt whole again. Still, as they reveled, two chairs were set aside, a full glass placed on each, which everyone agreed should be their new tradition.

~~~~~

A wounded fortress atop a cliff; perched upon a snow blanketed mountain like a bird of prey, was bathed in light that evening. The sound of laughter, both glad and sad, echoed through stone halls which had once stood abandoned for Ages. A place of war and a place of homecoming. A place which had seen battle and blood and stood against gods, more times than any building had a right to.

The place of Astlyr Adaar, Inquisitor of Skyhold.

~~~~~~

~Notes, letters and missives found on the desk of Verric Tethras. Head Chronicler of Skyhold~

 

Inquisitor Adaar,

Or should that be: Teyrna Adaar? Congratulations on the title.

I am certain you are most curious as to my whereabouts after our little chat in your lovely keep regarding the impending attack by Elgarn'nan and his forces. Rest assured, I am alive and well, though I shall not be revealing my location to you at this time. Too many eager ears. I was, thankfully, able to summon the willpower to avoid your little skirmish entirely and now I travel where I please, researching the ancient Elvhen ways. For, though we not have true gods in our midst, there are still many mysteries of that time which have yet to be discovered. My special knowledge will certainly lend itself to such a task.

Should the time arrive when I have news of import I shall be certain to contact you again.

The Witch of the Wilds.

~A Missive from Iron Bull's Chargers.~

We found it, Boss. Or rather, we found THEM. Four of them. Now we know how the elves were moving their army around so easily. Dalish informs me that the mirrors might have been bound together magically, though she is uncertain exactly how. I'm sure some of Skyhold's experts will soon have the method figured out. We're standing guard over these beauties until you send an extraction team. Wouldn't want the locals getting any sharp ideas.

~Krem

~A letter from the field.~

My flower,

Things are going surprisingly well down in the elven winter camp. The slaves are fairing the worst, having been born to warmer climes, and having been poorly fed and looked after. What children survived this war are a tough, scrappy lot. One lad, Jared, reminds me of me a bit. The other day I saw him heading up a team of youngsters and reenacting the Battle of The Gods.

Naturally the mood is still uncertain, and Fen has his work cut out for him. Yet, with the army helping us build temporary cabins and Skyhold's extensive coffers being used however they can be (I leave such things up to you, my sweet one) I believe that the elves are truly beginning to understand, and even embrace their new life style. Though, of course, some of the Dalish are still acting a wee bit big for their britches. You know how they can be

I will return to Skyhold in a fortnight to resupply, and to visit you, my flower. Until that sweet day, I keep the token you gave me close to my heart.

T.

~Attached is a smaller note in a different hand.~

Cole,  
Please return this letter to where you found it! We've discussed this. You are to leave people's personal letters alone, even if you know I would value the information.

~Small note on a scrap of paper~  
Varric,  
Had Cole drop this off for you. Come to the tavern later. Astlyr says she'll play as long as the betting doesn't get too high. Titus is new to this game. We're going to make a killing.

D.

~Missive to Josephine~

My Dear Josephine,

Are you aware that people have begun referring to this Age as The Age of Adaar? The scholars are in an uproar over this, as the next Age is not scheduled to begin for several decades yet. I shall admit, it does rather roll off the tongue, but please do not inform our beloved Teyrna. No need to give her an enlarged ego, when so much of her is already oversized.

My research is ongoing, and I intend to return to Skyhold with my findings soon. The Circles are rebuilding, after a fashion. Why waste a perfectly good mage tower? Discipline is woefully lax, and most students merely travel to the towers for lessons, returning home at night. Were I not so engaged with my own research, I might have a word or two with some of these lackluster First Enchanters that are cropping up with alarming frequency.

As yet, no one has been able to offer theories, or even much speculation, as to what our dear Inquisitor was able to do during The Battle of the Gods. I suspect that Cole may have done something untoward, no matter how much Astlyr insists he had no evil intent, and the strange goings on were the result of both of their wills and abilities.

Shortly, I plan to write a paper on the subject of the Anchor and all of its various effects. I shall, of course, be the first to do so, and my first hand knowledge will, I am certain, become immensely useful.

Until I return, please pop in and check on my tower. We do not need another explosion. We have recently acquired a shipment of extremely rare volumes.

Lady Vivienne,  
First Enchanter to the Skyhold College of Magi

 

~Small Note~

Puppy,

I'll be working late. Please have the kitchen send up more of those little scones.

~Rolled up Note~

Report-  
The Empress has reinstalled herself on the throne, as tottery in her rule as she has ever been. The remaining elves of Halashiral have once again been made to heel. Your warnings of their loyalties have been taken into account by the empress. Many elves have left the city by night, their location remains unknown. The city is struggling to find itself with a greatly reduced lower class. Things like this make me glad I'm not Orlesian. Everybody kicks down.

Master Crow. Left Hand of the Divine

~Letter from Divine Victoria~

Teyrna Astlyr Adaar,

I have sent a small contingent of my priestesses to your Teyrn in hopes of establishing several new Chantries for use by the humans and elves of your new lands. To offer these people an alternative to their own 'gods' if they so choose.

My riders will make a stop at Skyhold to further discuss these plans.

Divine Victoria

~Small, rolled up letter~

Boss,

Had word that a villager near Redcliff claims to have spotted a gigantic hawk flying over their fields. The Chargers and I will investigate.

Krem

 

~Ragged Note~

After speaking at some length with the leaders of the avvar I am pleased to report that they have agreed to be included in your Teyrn. While I must say that their customs are very different, and a few times I was afraid for my life, they do seem more amused at my news than anything. I was certain to inform them that their way of life and culture will not be threatened, and their lands shall remain theirs. This pleased their leaders greatly and I have high hopes for future conversations. I hope that most of these can be conducted by people more used to diplomatic missions.

~Scout Harding.

 

~Notice from the Infirmary~

We have new additions! The first children born at Skyhold! Healer Audra and her husband have just announced the births of their twin children. A girl and a boy. The little boy is already going by the name Ernan, which I am told means “Iron” in some forgotten human tongue. The little girl, who already has perfected a deadly glare of her very own, has been dubbed Cassandra.

Guard Captain Esther Jones

 

The End

 

Epilogue

“I knew you would come.” the dragon turned, seeing the black wolf come loping slowly over the rise of a hill. He was bathed in the muted, green-tinted light of the Fade, but his blue eyes shone out all the more brightly. “Old Friend,” she welcomed him.

The wolf stopped, his tail was not raised in greeting. He stared at her with his intelligent eyes, but said nothing. The dragon pressed on. “You did well. We did well. Our plan fell in to place perfectly. A pity that I was forced to abandon that body. It was a good one. Never the less, this was a success.”

The wolf said nothing.

“You did far better than even I had hoped! Stepping in to lead The People so quickly. And how they took to you! Unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. This means that our plans can move forward all the more quickly. Your friend, Adaar, did just as we predicted, of course. She certainly can be relied upon to get rid of pesky road blocks for us. First Corypheus, then Elgar'nan.”

The wolf blinked slowly, but still did not speak. His velvety ears gave the slightest twitch.

“Now all I must do is return myself to a body and the Old Gods will be restored anew. As it should be. You and I, ruling over the elves. Just as was planned.”

The wolf moved then, dipping its head slightly it stepped to the side to accommodate another figure. She seemed to appear from the air, a small, white rabbit hopping at her feet. No. Not a rabbit. A spirit. The dragon hissed. The woman who now stood beside the wolf was tall, imposing and dominant. On her head she bore two deadly looking horns, and on her hand the mark of the Fade. She locked eyes with the dragon and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's notes:
> 
> Well, we made it! About a year since the game first came out! Wow! One chapter per week for almost a year! If you've been here since the beginning give a holla so I can add you to my list of acknowledgments! I do feel a little sad that I did not manage to get this tale finished before Bioware got around to doing it themselves (though my version was free). Granted, I have not played the latest DLC, but I think it aims to answer the very questions I set out to answer. What is the fate of Solas/Fen'Harel, and what becomes of the Inquisitor and her Inquisition after the war is over?  
> Granted, I also wanted to explained about the gods, and have a whole arc for Astlyr and Cole, so I think I get extra points for that ;)
> 
> I hope, no matter what Bioware comes up with, that you enjoy this version and maybe hold it close to your hearts :)
> 
> If you enjoyed my writing, and this story, I encourage you to check out “After the Fall” on AO3, fanfiction.net and Deviantart, where I give the same treatment to the end of the Mass Effect series! I also have lots of short fiction that might entertain you, AND AN ORIGINAL BOOK THAT YOU CAN CHECK OUT HERE: http://www.amazon.com/Phoenix-Emily-Luebke-ebook/dp/B00GH1C58G
> 
> Acknowledgments:
> 
> For the hubby, Adam, who helped me immeasurably with this tail. While I am good with characters, flow, and dialogue, he is great at bigger picture and politics. He kept me grounded, on track, and at least attempting to be realistic in the world.
> 
> For my friends Kari and Alyssa. They not only read, but were able to give some in-depth comments for many of the chapters, and Kari helped beta for spelling (crucial). Both of them made me happier than I will ever be able to express in person. You guys are my Kadan...s
> 
> For: ClassyNerd16, ActuallyFenHarel, Yaralia, CelticDragon0, CommanderLavellan, Sasukefan1029, ellehciM335, amicable, convict626, Pyreite, Awakened_Dreamer, GypsySisters, Hellsyswinged, suz8, Crystal, mind_the_thorns, MinervaDashwood, makaruba, veganstein, BooDipp, Krystylsky, Reveries_Levallen, Sephalia, Faeran, xxRavenxXxMadisonxx
> 
> Loyal readers all, who made themselves known with lovely and delightful comments. Comments encourage writers more than you will ever guess and yours helped me keep sane on days when real life threatened to darken my fantasy world. Thank you endlessly!
> 
> Special thanks to: xxRavenxXxMadisonxx who not only read, but drew some awesomel art of Astlyr to be found right here: http://xxravenxxxmadisonxx.deviantart.com/art/Sexy-Astlyr-529589468  
> http://xxravenxxxmadisonxx.deviantart.com/art/Astlyr-with-her-Dragon-Tooth-Pendant-529591849
> 
> Hungry for MORE of Astlyr's Thedas?! Check out "Letters From Thedas" http://archiveofourown.org/works/5081299/chapters/11685334
> 
> What shall be my next project? Who knows! I highly encourage you to follow me here: https://www.facebook.com/Emily-Luebke-Author-283743888311991/timeline/  
> You'll see all kinds of good stuff, including new original stories, new fanfics, and even book reviews!
> 
> Check me out on youtube where I read some of my fic out loud for you!  
> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCtrwu4TzHUKh3kbCZZvX_4A
> 
> Don't forget to favorite, follow, thumbs up, whatever this page allows you to do!
> 
> Love you all!  
> See you soon!


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